LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


OK 


Mrs.  SARAH  P.  WALS  WORTH. 

Received  October,  1894. 
Accessions  No.$J?:          Class  No._ 


ATTRACTIVE  AND  INTERESTING 

JUTE  NILS    BOOKS, 

PUBLISHED  BY 

ROBERT  CARTER  &  BROTHERS. 


Blossoms  of  Childhood. 

By  the  author  of  the  "  Broken  Bud."    IGmo.    75  cents. 
Bunbury. 

Glory,  Glory,  Glory,  and  other  Narratives.    25  cents. 
Cameron. 

The  Farmer's  Daughter.    Illustrated.    30  cents. 
Commandment  with  Promise. 

By  the  author  of  "  The  Week,"  &c.    Illustrated.    75  cents. 
Duncan,  Henry. 

Tales  of  the  Scottish  Peasantry.    18mo.    50  cents. 

The  Cottage  Fireside.    40  cents. 

Duncan,  Mary  Lundie. 

Rhymes  for  my  Children.    25  cents. 
Far  Off  in  Asia  and  Australia. 

Described  by  the  author  of  the  "  Peep  of  Day,"  &c.    Illustrated. 
16mo. 

Fry,  Caroline. 

The  Listener.    Illustrated.    $1  00. 
Frank  Netherton. 

Or,  the  Talisman.    Illustrated.    IGmo. 
Infant's  Progress. 

By  the  author  of  "  Little  Henry  and  his  Bearer."  Illustrated.  75  cts 
Jamie  Gordon. 

Or,  the  Orphan.    Illustrated.    75  cents. 
Kennedy,  Grace. 

Jessy  Allan.    18mo.    25  cents. 

Decision,  or  Religion  must  be  all  or  nothing.    25  cents. 

Anna  Ross.    Illustrated.    30  cents. 

Michael  Kemp. 

The  Happy  Farmer's  Lad.    Illustrated.    40  cents. 
My  School  Boy  Days. 

Illustrated.    18mo.    30  cents. 
My  Youthful  Companions. 

A  Sequel  to  the  above.    Illustrated.    30  cents. 


CARTERS7  JUVENILE    PUBLICATIONS. 

My  Grandfather  Gregory. 

Illustrated.    25  cents. 
My  Grandmama  Gilbert. 

By  the  same  author.    25  cents. 

New  Cobwebs 

To  Catch  Young  Flies.    Illustrated.    Square.    50  cents. 
Opie,  Amelia. 

Tales  and  Illustrations  of  Lying.    18mo.    40  cents. 
Old  Humphrey's 

Addresses — Observations — Thoughts— Walks  in  London — Homely 
Hints— Country  Strolls— Sea  Captain— Grandparents— Isle  of 
Wight— Pithy  Papers— Pleasant  Tales— North  American  Indians. 
12  volumes.  Each  40  cents. 

Osborne,  Mrs.  David. 

The  World  of  Waters.    Illustrated.    75  cents. 
Pastor's  Daughter. 

By  Mrs.  L.  P.  Hopkins.    Illustrated.    40  cents. 
Peep  of  Day, 

and  "  Line  upon  Line,"  and  "  Precept  on  Precept."  3  volumes. 
Each  30  cents. 

Pollok,  Robert. 

Tales  of  the  Scottish  Covenanters.    16mo.    75  cents 
Helen  of  the  Glen.    18mo.    25  cents. 
The  Persecuted  Family.    18mo.    25  cents. 
Ralph  Gemmell.    18mo.    25  cents. 

Stories  on  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

By  the  author  of  "  Edward  and  Miriam." 

Sigourney,  Mrs.  L.  H. 

Water  Drops.    16mo.    75  cents. 

Letters  to  my  Pupils.    Portrait.    75  cents. 

Olive  Leaves.     Illustrated.    75  cents. 

Boys'  Book.  40  cents. 

Girls'  Book.    40  cents. 

Child's  Book.    35  cents. 

Sinclair,  Catherine. 

Charlie  Seymour.    18mo.    30  cts. 

Taylor,  Jane. 

Hymns  for  Infant  Minds.    40  cents. 
Limed  Twigs.    Colored  plates.    50  cents. 
Contributions  of  Q.  Q.     Illustrated.    $1. 
Original  Poems.    Illustrated.    40  cents.  • 

Tucker,  S. 

The  Rainbow  in  the  North.    Illustrated.    75  cents. 

Week,  The. 

By  the  author  of  the  "  Commandment  with  Promise."    75  cents. 

Wilson,  Professor. 

Lights  and  Shadows  of  Scottish  Life.    75  cents. 


£~^*s*i> 


THE  ROYAL  PREACHER. 


ntt 


BY 

JAMES  HAMILTON,  D.D.,  F.L.S., 

AUTHOR  OF  "LIFE  IN  EARNEST,"  "MOUNT  OF  OLIVES,"  "HAPPY  HOME," 
44  LIFE  OF  LADY  COLQUHOUN,"  ETC.  ETC. 


NEW  YORK: 

ROBERT    CARTER    &    BROTHERS, 
No.   285    BROADWA  V. 

1853. 


T.   B.    SMITH,    STEREOTYPED 

216  WilUam  Street,  New  York. 


R.    CBAIGHEAD,    PRINTER, 

53  Vesey  Street. 


LECTURE  Page 

I.  THE  PREACHER 1 

II.  THE  SERMON        .        .        .        .     -  .        .  12 

III.  A  GREATER  THAN  SOLOMON    .        .        .        .42 

IV.  THE  VESTIBULE  OF  VANITY         .  60 
V.  THE  MUSEUM  .......  80 

VI.  THE  PLAY-HOUSE  AND  THE  PALACE      .        .  A12 

VII.  THE  MONUMENT 123 

VIII.  THE  CLOCK  OF  DESTINY,      .         .        .        .  135 

IX.  THE  DUNGEON 168 

X.  THE  SANCTUARY  .        .        .        .        .        .  176 

XL  THE  EXCHANGE 190 

XIL  BORROWED  LIGHTS  FOR  A  DARE  LANDING-PLACE  204 

XIII.  A  GOOD  NAME 222 

XIV.  THE  POWER  OF  PATIENCE   ....  230 
XV.  DEAD  FLIES 235 

XVI.  BLUNT  AXES  ;  OR,  SCIENCE  AND  GOOD  SENSE  251 

XVII.  BREAD  ON  THE  WATERS 273 

XVIII.  BRIGHT  MOMENTS  ON  THE  WING        .         .  286 

XIX.  OLD  AGE 299 

XX.  THE  WICKET  GATE      .        .        .        .        .  319 

XXL  GREEN  PASTURES 336 


IN  the  form  of  translations,  expositions,  and 
literary  parallels,  there  is  now  connected  with 
each  book  of  the  Bible  a  very  extensive  au- 
thorship ;  and  we  might  fill  a  little  volume 
with  a  historical  review  of  the  illustrations  of 
Ecclesiastes,  from  the  Commentary  of  Jerome 
to  the  illuminated  edition  of  Owen  Jones. 

Jerome  tells  us  that  his  work  originated  in 
an  effort  to  bring  over  to  the  monastic  life  a 
young  Eoman  lady,  Blesilla.  This  object  gives 
an  ascetie  tone  to  every  chapter,  and  many  of 
his  interpretations  are  so  fanciful  that  along- 
side of  them  any  modern  Cocceius  would  be 
deemed  sober  and  literal.  For  instance,  ap- 
plying to  the  Saviour  the  language  of  the  sec- 
ond chapter,  the  "slaves,"  or  men-servants 
there  mentioned,  he  thinks  are  Christians  af- 
flicted with  the  spirit  of  bondage ;  the  "  great 


Viii  PREFACE. 


and  small  cattle, "  are  the  simpletons  and 
drudges  of  the  Church, — its  "  sheep  and  ox- 
en," who,  without  exerting  their  reason  or 
studying  the  Scriptures,  do  as  they  are  bidden, 
but  are  not  entitled  to  rank  as  men,  &c.  His 
own  reason  the  learned  father  freely  exercised 
in  his  scriptural  studies ;  and  he  takes  care  to 
apprise  his  readers  that  his  version  is  the  re- 
sult of  his  independent  research.*  For  this  he 
has  been  curiously  rewarded.  The  Council  of 
Trent  has  declared  his  version  "authentic," 
and  has  virtually  decreed  that  henceforth  Je- 
rome's private  judgment  must  be  the  judgment 
of  Christendom.  The  most  painful  thing  in 
his  writings  is  the  tone  of  litigious  infelicity  by 
which  they  are  pervaded.  It  is  a  sort  of  for- 
mic acid  which  flows  from  the  finger-points 
not  of  our  good  father  alone,  but  of  a  whole 
class  of  Divines  ;  and,  like  the  red  marks  left 
by  the  feet  of  ants  on  litmus-paper,  it  discolors 
all  his  pages.  But  although  we  cannot  sub- 

*  "  Nullius  autoritatem  secutus  sum ;"  "  nee  contra  con- 
scientiam  meam,  fonte  veritatis  omisso,  opinionum  rivulos 
consectarer." 


PEEFACE.  IX 


scribe  to  every  rendering  of  the  Latin  Vulgate, 
and  must  demur  to  its  author's  principles  of 
interpretation  as  well  as  his  spirit, — the  zeal 
and  industry  of  Jerome,  and  the  curious  in- 
formation which  he  has  transmitted,  must  al- 
ways secure  for  his  name  a  prominent  place  in 
the  history  of  Biblical  literature. 

To  the  monk  of  Bethlehem,  we  have  a  curi- 
ous contrast  in  Martin  Luther.  "  Fathers  and 
doctors  have  grievously  erred  in  supposing 
that  in  this  book  Solomon  taught  contempt  of 
the  world,  as  they  call  it,  meaning  thereby 
contempt  of  things  ordained  and  created.  The 
creatures  are  good  enough,  but  it  is  man  and 
man's  notions  which  Solomon  pronounces  van- 
ity. But  his  expounders,  forsooth !  make  it 
out  that  the  creatures  are  the  vanity,  and  that 
they  themselves  and  their  dreams  are  the  only 
solidity  !  And  thus,  from  the  Divine  gold  of 
our  author  they  have  forged  their  own  abomi- 
nable idols."  And  then,  in  that  spirit  of  ge- 
nial life-enjoyment  with  which  the  "Table 
Talk"  and  Merle  D'Aubign^s  History  have 
made  us  so  familiar,  he  states  it  as  the  true 


PREFACE. 


scope  of  Ecclesiastes :  "  Solomon  wishes  to 
make  us  tranquil  in  the  ordinary  on-goings 
and  accidents  of  this  existence,  neither  afraid 
of  future  days  nor  covetous  of  remote  posses- 
sions ;*  as  St.Taul  says, '  careful  for  nothing.' " 
And  then  in  a  strain  very  different  from  that 
which  sought  to  decoy  Blesilla  into  a  convent, 
and  like  the  uncaged  captive,  which  he  really 
was,  the  Saxon  swanf  goes  on  to  celebrate  the 
joys  of  Christian  liberty. 

Since  that  period,  versions  and  commenta- 
ries have  appeared  sufficient  to  store  a  little 
library.  In  one  thing  they  all  agree.  They 
all  allow  that  Ecclesiastes  contains  many  things 
hard  to  be  understood.  "  Mea  sententia  inter 
omnia  sacra  scripta  liber  longe  obscurissimus," 
says  Mercer,  the  learned  Hebrew  professor  in 
Paris  University  ;  "  le  plus  difficile  de  tous  les 
livres  de  1'Ecriture,"  re-echoes  his  still  more 
learned  countryman,  Calmet.  "  Of  all  the  He- 
brew writings,  none  present  greater  obstacles 

*  "  Sine  cura  et  cupiditate  futurorum." 
f  Luther's  crest  was  a  swan,  as  those  will  remember  who 
recall  the  narrative  of  Huss's  Martyrdom. 


PREFACE.  XI 


to  the  expositor,'7  is  the  preliminary  remark 
of  one  of  the  most  intelligent  English  transla- 
tors, G.  Holden ;  and  even  German  clairvoy- 
ance acknowledges  "  Finsterniss"  and  "  Dun- 
kelheit."  "  Zwar  hat  das  Licht  der  neuern  Ex- 
egese  die  dunkle  Wolke  zertheilt,  aber  sie  doch 
noch  nicht  in  vollige  Klarheit  aufgelost,"  was 
the  confession  of  Umbreit  thirty  years  ago,  and 
it  is  still  repeated  by  most  of  his  critical  suc- 
cessors. 

(JThere  is  another  respect  in  which  these  com- 
mentators are  all  agreed,  and  in  consequence 
of  which  their  productions  remarkably  vary. 
Unconsciously  they  transfer  to  their  authors 
their  own  subjectivity,  and  Solomon  is  made 
to  assume  a  sanguine  or  atrabilious  aspect,  or 
he  becomes  a  poet,  a  logician,  a  satirist,  or  a 
penitent,  according  to  the  mood  of  his  inter- 
preter?]] As  meteorologists  employ  a  cyanom- 
eter  for  ascertaining  the  depth  of  azure  in  the 
atmosphere,  so  we  once  thought  of  preparing  a 
physiognomic  scale,  where  the  academic  learn- 
ing and  sober  sense  of  Bishop  Patrick  might 
have  served  as  a  medium  between  the  dry  se- 


PREFACE. 


verity  and  point-splitting  precision  of  Brough- 
ton*  at  the  one  extreme,  and  the  good-natured 
excursiveness  and  hazy  idealism  of  Greena 
wayf  at  the  other.  But  remembering  how  it 
has  fared  with  the  inventors  of  dangerous  in- 
struments, from  the  days  of  Lord  Morton  down- 
wards, we  have  thought  it  better  to  leave  oui 
criticometer  incomplete  for  the  present. 

Not  to  enumerate  the  older  works  of  Des- 
vceux,  (1760),  L.  Holden  (1764),  and  Hodgson 
(1790),  and  the  well-arranged  and  scholar-like 
publication  of  Gr.  Holden  (1822),  two  very  good 
English  translations  of  Ecclesiastes  have  lately 
appeared.  Of  these,  the  most  elaborate  is  by 
the  Rev.  T.  Preston,  of  Cambridge,  and  is  ac- 
companied by  the  ingenious  Commentary  of 

*  See  "  The  works  of  the  great  Albionean  Divine  renown'd 
in  many  nations  for  rare  skill  in  Salem's  and  Athens'  tongues, 
and  familiar  acquaintance  with  all  Rabbinical  learning,  Mr. 
Hugh  Broughton."  London,  1662. 

f  In  Greenaway's  curious  medley  the  only  unity  is  indig- 
nation, not  wholly  unmerited,  at  Houbigant.  The  very  in- 
dex reads, "  Houbigant,  tolerable,  190;  intolerable,  61;  im- 
pertinent, passim ;  his  spiteful  and  scandalous  attempt  to 
wound  the  Sacred  Text,  67 ;  disgusting,  197 ;  correcting 
Virgil,  234." 


PREFACE.  Xlll 


Eabbi  Mendlessohn  (1845).  The  other  by  Dr. 
Nbyes  of  Boston,  U.  S.  (1846),  with  less  show 
of  erudition,  is  clear  and  straightforward ;  but, 
like  Mendlessohn,  the  American  professor 
gives  to  the  book  an  air  of  theological  tenuity, 
and  mere  worldly  wisdom,  which  carries  nei- 
ther our  conviction  nor  our  sympathy. 

In  the  "  Presbyterian  Be  view"  (Edinburgh), 
for  October,  1846,  there  was  inserted  a  brief 
but  interesting  paper  on  this  book,  ascribed, 
we  believe  correctly,  to  our  friend,  the  Eev. 
A.  A,  Bonar.  Full  of  fine  fancy  and  delicate 
insight,  its  only  fault  is  its  shortness ;  and  al- 
though we  have  taken  another  view  of  the 
book's  purport  and  ground-plan,  we  could 
wish  that  its  text  were  illustrated  by  a  mind 
so  rich  in  Eastern  lore  and  Christian  experi- 
ence. 

Our  own  labors  were  nearly  ended  before 
there  came  into  our  hands  the  "  Biblical  Ke- 
pository"  (New  York)  for  April,  1850,  con- 
taining a  Lecture  by  Professor  Stowe,  of  Cin- 
cinnati. The  plan  of  Ecclesiastes,  as  given  by 
this  ingenious  expositor,  is  so  nearly  akin  to 


PREFACE. 


that  which  will  be  found  in  the  subsequent 
pages,  that  we  feel  bound  to  transcribe  it : — 
["The  method  of  the  writer  is  the  most  vivid 
and  effective  that  can  be  conceived.  Instead 
of  describing  the  various  processes  of  thought 
and  feeling  through  which  Solomon  passed  in 
the  course  of  his  eventful  life,  the  whole  heart 
of  the  king  is  taken  out  and  held  up  before  our 
eyes,  with  everything  it  contains,  both  good 
and  bad.  The  secret  chambers  of  his  soul  are 
thrown  open,  and  we  see  every  thought  and 
feeling  as  it  arises  in  the  mind,  and  in  the  ex- 
act shape  in  which  it  first  presents  itself,  with- 
out any  of  those  modifications  by  which  men 
soften  down  the  harder  features  of  their  first 
thoughts  before  they  give  them  utterance  to 
their  fellow-men."  "  Solomon  ....  seeking 
happiness  in  the  things  of  earth,  ....  is  dis- 
appointed and  disgusted ;  and  instead  of  re? 
penting  of  his  errors,  he  becomes  dissatisfied 
with  the  arrangements  of  Providence,  misan- 
thropic, and  skeptical.  His  conscience,  how- 
ever, is  not  entirely  asleep,  but  occasionally 
interposes  to  check  his  murmurings  and  re- 


PEEFACE.  XV 


prove  him  for  his  follies.  In  this  state  of  mind 
he  is  introduced,  and  in  the  character  of  Ko- 
heleth,  gives  full  and  strong  utterance  to  all 
his  feelings.  Hence,  inconsistent  statements 
and  wrong  sentiment  are  to  be  expected  in 
the  progress  of  the  discourse ;  and  it  is  not  till 
the  close  of  the  book  that  all  his  errors  are 
corrected,  and  he  comes  to  ( the  conclusion  of 
the  whole  matter,7  a  humbled,  penitent,  be- 
lieving, religious  man." 

Of  those  older  commentators  who  are  horta- 
tory rather  than  explanatory,  Eeynolds  is  by 
far  the  best.  The  "Homilies"  of  Thomas 
Cartwright,  and  the  "  Expositions"  of  Granger 
(1621),  and  Nisbet  (1694),  contain  many  pious 
and  useful  reflections  ;  but  they  are  not  likely 
to  find  many  modern  readers.  In  our  own 
vday,  Dr.  Wardla.w  has  published  two  volumes 
of  Lectures,  which  are  distinguished  by  richly 
scriptural  illustration  and  faithful  enforcement 
of  truth  on  the  conscience,  conveyed  .in  lan- 
guage remarkable  for  its  clearness  and  ele- 
gance, and 'which  promise  long  to  retain  a  firm 
hold  of  the  public  mind. 


XVI  PREFACE. 


Two  poetical  paraphrases  of  Bcclesiastes 
have  been  written  by  authors  whose  opposite 
fortunes  are  striking  illustrations  of  their 
theme.  One  is  entitled,  "  The  Design  of  Part 
of  the  Book  of  Ecclesiastes :  or,  the  Unreason- 
ableness of  Men's  Restless  Contentions  for  the 
Present  Enjoyments,  represented  in  an  English 
Poem."*  It  was  the  maiden  effort  of  William 
Wollaston,  afterwards  sufficiently  known 
through  "  The  Religion  of  Nature  Delineated." 
He  published  it  in  all  the  gaiety  of  his  spirits, 
when,  from  being  an  ill-paid  schoolmaster,  he 
found  himself  suddenly  the  heir  of  a  rich  kins- 
man, and  when  with  his  newly-married  wife, 
also  an  heiress,  he  had  settled  in  a  handsome 

*  London,  1691.  It  is  anonymous ;  but  the  Preface  is 
signed  "  W.  W."  It  is  now  very  rare.  The  author  after- 
wards wished  to  suppress  it.  See  Biogr.  Brit.  4304. 

Amongst  other  bibliographical  curiosities  connected  with 
this  portion  of  Scripture  may  be  mentioned,  "  King  Solomon 
his  Solace.  Containing  (among  many  thinges  of  right  wor- 
thy request)  King  Solomon  his  Politic,  his  true  Repentance, 
and  finally  his  Salvation.  [By  John  Carpenter.]  London, 
1606."  It  is  a  dialogue  between  Zadoc  and  Solomon's  chief 
lords,  filling  a  black-letter  quarto.  It  is  quaint  and  inge- 
nious ;  but  owing  to  its  tediousness,  its  rarity  is  neither  to 
be  wondered  at  nor  regretted. 


PREFACE. 


house,  and  surrounded  himself  with  a  splendid 
library  in  Charter  House-square.  The  cither 
is  "  Choheleth ;  or,  the  Koyal  Preacher,  a  Po- 
etical Paraphrase  of  the  Book  of  Ecclesiastes ; 
printed  for  J.  "Wallis,  at  Yorick's  Head,  Lud- 
gate-street,  1768."  It  was  probably  written 
within  a  few  yards  of  Wollaston's  former  man- 
sion; for  its  author  died  a  pensioner  in  the 
Charter  House,  January,  1795,  aged  eighty- 
eight  years.  "  He  was  at  the  time  of  the  earth- 
quake a  considerable  merchant  at  Lisbon,  and 
narrowly  escaped  with  his  life,  after  seeing  all 
his  property  swallowed  up.  Some  time  after 
his  arrival  in  England  he  lost  his  eyesight, 
when  Her  Majesty  was  pleased  to  give  him  her 
warrant  for  the  comfortable  asylum  he  enjoyed 
till  his  death.  He  was  well  versed  in  different 
languages,  and  was  the  author  of  several  de- 
tached publications."*  What  an  example  of 

*  From  a  MS.  note  appended  to  our  copy  of  "  Choheleth." 
We  have  not  been  able  to  find  any  notice  of  Brodick  in  print. 
His  paraphrase  was  reprinted  at  Whitchurch,  Salop  (1824), 
"With  Supplementary  Notes,  by  Nathaniel  Higgins;"  but 
the  editor  does  Dot  appear  to  have  known  even  the  name  of 
his  author. 


XVU1  PREFACE. 


the  "  time  to  get  and  the  time  to  lose  !"  The 
fagged  •  schoolmaster  transformed  in  a  few 
months  into  the  full-blown  gentleman,  and  ad- 
mitted to  courtly  circles  with  his  beautiful 
heiress ;  and  the  prosperous  merchant  seeing 
his  wealth  in  a  moment  engulfed  by  the  earth 
whence  it  came,  and  then  losing  the  eyes  that 
beheld  it,  and  thankful  for  a  home  in  a  public 
hospital !  Brodick's  Paraphrase  indicates  con- 
siderable poetical  talent,  and,  although  too  co- 
pious, it  is  so  good  a  transfusion  of  the  original 
that  the  Commentary  of  the  learned  Dr.  Clarke 
in  a  great  measure  consists  of  extracts  from  it. 
On  the  score  of  neither  versification  nor  fidel- 
ity is  Wollaston's  poem  entitled  to  equal 
praise ;  and  by  treating  Solomon  as  a  satirist 
he  has  evidently  misapprehended  his  charac- 
ter ;  but  as  the  book  is  now  seldom  seen,  we 
may  give  a  short  sample  of  the  opening  chap- 
ter: — 

"  Here  Mocher  bustles  in  a  thronged  shop, 
That  swallows  all  his  hours  to  feed  his  hope ; 
And  pants,  by  business  elbow'd  every  way. 
Within  the  narrow  limits  of  the  day. 


PKEFACE.  XIX 


There  sails  a  Tyrian  by  some  distant  star, 
Bolder  than  fits  of  men  in  deep  despair  : 
While  Iccar  keeps  within  his  native  sphere, 
Always  at  home,  yet,  too,  a  traveller  : 
For  daily  tramping  o'er  his  spacious  fields, 
He  views  their  state,  and  what  each  of  them  yields ; 
O'erlooks  his  flocks,  o'erlooks  his  men,  that  plough, 
Or  (his  own  emblem)  corn  and  fodder  mow ; 
While  sweat,  the  curse,  that  vanquish'd  all  our  race, 
In  pearly  drops  does  triumph  on  his  face. 

But  Oh,  that  here  the  catalogue  might  close  I 

For  still  worse  ends  men  to  themselves  propose  ; 

And  still  worse  roads  to  reach  their  goals  they  choose. 

Methinks  I  see  the  crafty  Gilonite, 

Broke  from  the  cords  of  duty  and  of  right, 

Within  his  study  (forge  of  treasons)  sit, 

And  scratching  prompt  his  head  and  stir  his  wit, 

Seeking  through  policy  and  state  essays 

Himself,  tho'  by  his  master's  fall,  to  raise. 

While  Absalom  (what  pity  't  should  be  he  I) 

The  fairest  youth  e'er  blotted  family, 

A  more  compendious  rebel  strives  to  be ; 

Through  David's  and  his  father's  breast  would  bore 

A  purple  passage  to  the  sovereign  power." 

An  effort  of  a  much  higher  order  than  either 
of  the  above  is  Prior's  "  Solomon.'7  However, 
being  neither  a  paraphrase  nor  an  independent 
poem,  but  a  monologue  composed  of  materials 
which  Ecclesiastes  supplies,  wit,  learning,  and 
melodious  verse  fail  to  sustain  the  interest  of 


XX  PREFACE. 


the  huge  soliloquy  through  its  three  successive 
books.  And  we  are  inclined  to  think  that  the 
spirit  of  our  author  has  been  as  happily  caught 
and  his  design  as  successfully  carried  out  by 
sundry  productions  which  neither  profess  to 
translate  nor  to  imitate  him.  Among  these 
literary  parallels  we  would  name  Johnson's 
"Yanity  of  Human  Wishes;"  Hannah  More's 
"Search  after  Happiness;"  and  Tennyson's 
"  Two  Voices ;"  and  above  all,  "  Easselas."* 
May  we  not  add  the  sadly  beautiful  "  Conso- 
latio  Philosophise,"  in  which  the  last  of  the 
Eomans  has  given  us  everything  except  the 
grand  conclusion  ? 

Having  gone  over  two  books  of  the  New 
Testament,  the  author  selected  Ecclesiastes  as 
the  subject  of  a  congregational  lecture.  He 
chose  it  because  it  is  a  book  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, and  because  it  is  peculiarly  adapted  to 

*  "The  first  sentence  of  Rasselas  would  serve  equally 
well  as  an  introduction  to  Ecclesiastes :  '  Ye  who  listen  with 
credulity  to  the  whispers  of  fancy,  and  pursue  with  eagerness 
the  phantoms  of  hope :  who  expect  that  age  will  perform 
the  promises  of  youth,  and  that  the  deficiencies  of  the  present 
day  will  be  supplied  by  the  morrow,  attend/  "  <kc. — PBOF 
STOWB. 


PREFACE.  XXI 


the  present  wistful  and  restless  times.  He  also 
hoped  that  its  illustration  might  promote,  es- 
pecially among  the  younger  members  of  his 
flock,  the  intelligent  and  expectant  study  of 
the  sacred  Scriptures.  With  a  similar  hope  he 
now  publishes  a  portion  of  these  lectures.* 
The  space  which  it  would  occupy  has  com- 
pelled him  to  forego  any  attempt  at  detailed 
exposition,  and  he  has  felt  constrained  to  omit 
many  important  texts ;  but  he  trusts  that  the 
friendly  reader  may  be  able  to  glean  a  few  of 
the  Eoyal  Preacher's  lessons  from  the  follow- 
ing fragments ;  and  he  is  sure  that  in  gratitude 
for  brevity -every  reader  will  forgive  an  occa- 
sional abruptness.  And,  although  he  cannot 
claim  the  attention  of  the  theologian,  yet  he 
trusts  that  the  following  hint  may  assist  some 
readers  who,  revering  the  Word  of  God,  regret 
that  they  peruse  it  with  little  zest  or  imperfect 
understanding. 

One  pleasant  use  of  a  preface  is  that  it  en- 
ables a  writer  to  record  his  obligations.     To 

*  The  series  extended  to  forty  discourses,  of  which  the 
half  are  now  published,  most  of  them  somewhat  condensed. 


PREFACE. 


his  learned  co-presbyter,  Professor  Lorimer, 
the  author  is  indebted  for  the  use  of  many 
German  commentaries,  some  of  which  were 
unknown  to  him  even  by  name.  To  his  kind 
friend,  Sir  William  J.  Hooker,  he  sent  an  in- 
quiry on  behalf  of  the  artist  who  designed  the 
accompanying  vignette,  and  received  an  answer 
which  will  be  read  with  much  interest  by  stu- 
dents of  Bible  botany : — "  I  have  thought  much 
and  read  what  botanists  have  written  on  the 
'lily'  of  Matt.  vi.  28;  as  I  have  lately  been 
reading  a  learned  dissertation  on  the  mustard- 
seed  of  Scripture.  But  I  grieve  to  say,  the 
more  I  read  on  such  subjects  the  more  I  doubt 
the  possibility  of  coming  to  satisfactory  conclu- 
sions on  such  points.  They  may  amuse  the 
understanding,  but  cannot  convince  the  judg- 
ment. I  remember  at  one  time  being  satisfied 
that  the  Amaryllis  lutea  was  the  lily  of  Scrip- 
ture. I  think  .Sir  J.  Smith  first  maintained 
that,  in  his  pamphlets  entitled,  l  Considerations 
respecting  Cambridge,'  and  l  Defence  of  the 
Church,'  &c.,  and  in  '  Flora  Graeca,'  vol.  iv.  p. 
10,  where  he  says: — *  Haec  (Am  lutea)  est  apud 


PREFACE.  XX111 


Atticos  planta  coronaria,  et  etiam  ad  Turcorum 
sepulchra,  amoris  ac  pietatis  causa,  frequentius 
plantatur,  Flores  ejus,  splendore  aureo  et  ver& 
regali,  campos  varies  Europae,  sole  fervidiori 
illustrates,  messe  peracta,  pulcherrim&  ornant. 
Hinc  liliis  agrestibus  Evangelii,  longe  melins 
quam  lilia  Candida  hortorum,  nunquam  in  Sy- 
ria sponte  crescentia,  proculdubio  respondent ; 
quod  nomine  Graeco  ('  '^/y^to  x^iVa  *)  'Aygio 
Aata-e,  potius  AaAo?,  hodi^)  confirmatur.7  Kirby 
replied  to  this  in  a  little  dissertation,  published 
in  the  "  Christian  Eemembrancer,"  1819,  or 
thereabouts.  He  knocks  this  pretty  hypothe- 
sis on  the  head,  by  saying  this  plant  could  not 
be  used  for/weZ, — and  that  our  Saviour  '  begins 
his  exhortation  with  an  emphatical  word 
(xaTce^uafeTe),  which  enjoins  particular  attention 
to  an  object  so  as  to  know  it  well,  implying 
that  an  individual  must  be  studied,'  &c.  Thus 
he  gives  his  verdict  in  favor  of  Lilium  candi- 
dum  (not  L.  Martagori*),  the  XQWW  of  Diosco- 
rides,  the  withered  stems  of  which  are  very 

*  "  L.  Martagon  is  rather  a  northern  plant — middle  of 
Europe  and  Siberia." 


XXIV  PREFACE. 


likely  to  be  l  cast  into  the  oven/  Smith  had 
maintained  that  this  was  not  a  native  of  Pales- 
tine : — but  it  is  clearly  ascertained  to  be  so,  and 
of  several  parts  of  Syria,  Persia,  &c.  Were  a 
similar  comparison  to  be  drawn  in  our  country 
at  the  present  day,  how  would  a  commentator 
1800  years  hence,  determine  what  was  the 
'Lily*  alluded  to, — a  term  applied  to  a  hun- 
dred kinds,  varying  in  beauty,  and  other  qual- 
ifications, from  the  magnificent  '  Victoria  Wa- 
ter-Lily' to  the  humble  '  Lily  of  the  valley  ?' 
In  the  case  in  question,  I  rather  agree  with 
Kirby,  than  with  Smith,  and  the  former  has 
brought  more  learning  to  bear  on  the  subject." 


LECTURE   I. 


"  I  the  Preacher  was  King  over  Israel  in  Jerusalem."  — 
ECCLES.  i.  12. 

THERE  is  no  season  of  the  year  so  exquisite 
as  the  first  full  burst  of  Summer  :  when  east 
winds  lose  their  venom,  and  the  firmament  its 
April  fickleness  ;  when  the  trees  have  unreefed 
their  foliage,  and  under  them  the  turf  is  ten- 
der; when,  before  going  to  sleep,  the  black- 
bird wakes  the  nightingale,  and  night  itself  is 
only  a  softer  day  ;  when  the  dog-star  has  not 
withered  a  single  flower,  nor  the  mower's 
scythe  touched  one  ;  but  all  is  youth  and  fresh- 
ness, novelty  and  hope  —  as  if  our  very  earth 
had  become  a  bud,  of  which  only  another 
Eden  could  be  the  blossom  —  as  if,  with  all  her 
green  canvass  spread,  our  island  were  an  ar- 
1 


LECTURE   I. 


gosie,  floating  over  seas  of  balm  to  some  bright 
Sabbatic  haven  on  the  shores  of  Immortality. 
With  the  Hebrew  commonwealth,  it  was  the 
month  of  June.  Over  all  the  Holy  Land  there 
rested  a  blissful  serenity — the  cairn  which  fol- 
lows when  successful  war  is  crowned  with  con- 
quest— a  calm  which  was  only  stirred  by  the 
proud  joy  of  possession,  and  then  hallowed 
and  intensified  again  by  the  sense  of  Jehovah's 
favor.  And  amidst  this  calm  the  monarch  was 
enshrined,  at  once  its  source  and  its  symbol. 
In  the  morning  he  held  his  levee  in  his  splen- 
did Basilica— a  pillared  hall  a  hundred  cubits 
long.*  As  he  sate  aloft  on  his  lion-guarded 
throne,  he  received  petitions  and  heard  ap- 
peals, and  astonished  his  subjects  by  astute  de- 
cisions and  weighty  apophthegms,  till  every 
case  was  disposed  of,  and  the  toils  of  kingcraft 
ended.  Meanwhile,  his  chariot  was  waiting  in 
the  square;  and,  with  disdainful  hoofs,  the 
light  coursers  pawed  the  pavement,  impatient 

*  See  1  Kings  vii. .  Josephus'  Antiquities,  Bk.  viii.  chaps. 
5-7;  and  Fergusson's  "Palaces  of  Nineveh  Restored,"  (1851,) 
pp.  225-232. 


THE  PREACHER. 


for  their  master;  whilst,  drawn  up  on  either 
side,  purple  squadrons  held  the  ground,  and 
their  champing  chargers  tossed  from  their  flow- 
ing manes  a  dust  of  gold.  And  now,  a  stir  in 
the  crowd — the  straining  of  necks  and  the  jin- 
gle of  horse-gear  announce  the  acme  of  ex- 
pectation ;  and,  preceded  by  the  tall  panoply 
of  the  commander-in -chief,  and  followed  by  a 
dazzling  retinue,  there  emerges  from  the  pal- 
ace, and  there  ascends  the  chariot,  a  noble 
form,  arrayed  in  white  and  in  silver,  and 
crowned  with  a  golden  coronet;  and  the 
welkin  rings,  "God  save  the  King;"  for  this 
is  Solomon  in  all  his  glory.  And,  as  through 
the  Bethlehem  gate,  and  adown  the  level 
causeway,  the  bickering  chariot  speeds,  the 
vines  on  either  side  of  the  valley  give  a  good 
smell,  and  it  is  a  noble  sight  to  look  back  to 
yon  marble  fane  and  princely  mansions  which 
rear  their  snowy  cliffs  over  the  capital's  new 
ramparts.  It  is  a  noble  sight,  this  rural  com- 
fort and  that  civic  opulence — for  they  evince 
the  abundance  of  peace  and  the  abundance  of 
righteousness.  And  when,  through  orchards 


LECTURE   I. 


and  corn-fields,  the  progress  ends,  the  shouting 
concourse  of  the  capital  is  exchanged  for  the  -. 
delights  of  an  elysian  hermitage.  After  vjsit- 
ing  his  far-come  favorites — the  "  apes  and  the 
peacocks," — the  bright  birds  and  curious  quad- 
rupeds which  share  his  retirement ;  after  wan- 
dering along  the  terraces,  where  under  the 
ripening  pomegranates  roses  of  Sharon  blos- 
som, and  watching  the  ponds  where  fishes  bask 
amid  the  water-lilies, — we  can  imagine  him  re- 
tiring from  the  sunshine  into  that  grotto  which 
fed  these  reservoirs  from  its  fountain  sealed ; 
or  in  the  spacious  parlor,  whose  fluttering  lat- 
tice cooled,  and  whose  cedar  wainscot  em- 
balmed the  flowing  summer,  sitting  down  to 
indite  a  poem,  in  which  celestial  love  should 
overmaster  and  replace  the  earthly  passion 
which  supplied  iti  imagery.  Dipping  his  pen 
by  turns  in  Heaven's  rainbow,  and  in  the  pris- 
matic depths  of  his  own  felicity,  with  joy's 
own  ink  this  Prince  of  Peace  inscribed  that 
Song  of  Songs  which  is  Solomon's. 

It  was  June  in  Hebrew  history — the  top- 
tide  of  a  nation's  happiness.     Sitting,  like  an 


THE   PREACHER. 


empress,  between  the  Eastern  and  Western 
oceans,  the  navies  of  three  continents  poured 
their  treasures  at  her  feet ;  and,  awed  by  her 
commanding  name,  the  dromedaries  of  Midian 
and  Bphah  brought  spontaneous  tributes  of 
spice,  and  silver,  and  precious  stones.  To 
build  her  palaces,  the  shaggy  brows  of  Leba- 
non had  been  scalped  of  their  cedars,  and 
Ophir  had  bled  its  richest  gold.  At  the  magi- 
cal voice  of  the  Sovereign,  fountains  native  to 
distant  hills,  rippled  down  the  slopes  of  Zion ; 
and  miraculous  cities,  like  Palmyra,  started  up 
from  the  sandy  waste.  And  whilst  peace,  and 
commerce,  and  the  law's  protection,  made  gold 
like  brass,  and  silver  shekels  like  stones  of  the 
street,  Palestine  was  a  halcyon-nest  suspended 
betwixt  the  calm  wave  and  the  warm  sky; 
Jerusalem  was  a  royal  infant,  whose  silken 
cradle  soft  winds  rock  high  up  on  a  castle 
tower :  all  was  serene  magnificence  and  opu- 
lent security. 

Just  as  the  aloe  shoots,  and  in  one  stately 
blossom  pours  forth  the  life  which  has  been 
calmly  collecting  for  a  century,  so  would  it 


LECTUKE   I. 


appear  as  if  nations  were  destined  to  pour  forth 
their  accumulated  qualities  in  some  character- 
istic man,  and  then  they  droop  away.  Mace- 
donia blossomed,  and  Alexander  was  the 
flower  of  Greece ;  fiery  and  effeminate,  volup- 
tuous in  his  valor,  and  full  of  chivalrous  re- 
lentings  amidst  his  wild  revenge.  Rome  shot 
up  in  a  spike  of  glory,  and  revealed  Augustus 
— so  stern  and  so  sumptuous,  so  vast  in  his 
conceptions,  so  unquailing  in  his  projects,  so 
fearless  of  the  world,  and  so  fond  of  the  seven- 
hilled  city — the  Imperial  nest-builder.  Me- 
diaoval,  martial  Europe  blossomed,  and  God- 
frey and  Richard  were  the  twin-flowers  of 
chivalry — Godfrey  the  captor  of  Rome  and 
King  of  Jerusalem  ;  Richard  of  the  lion-heart, 
Richard  of  the  hammer-hand.  And  modern 
France  developed  in  one  Frenchman,  the  con- 
centration of  a  people  vain  and  ambitious,  rest- 
less and  rapid,  brilliant  in  sentiment,  and  brave 
in  battle ;  and  having  flowered  the  fated  once, 
the  Gallic  aloe  can  yield  no  more  Napoleons. 
So  with  Palestine  at  the  time  we  speak  of. 
Half-way  between  the  call  of  Abraham  and 


THE  PREACHER. 


the  final  capture  of  Jerusalem,  it  was  the  high 
summer  of  Jewish  story,  and  Hebrew  mind 
unfolded  in  this  pre-eminent  Hebrew.  Full 
of  sublime  devotion,  equally  full  of  practical 
sagacity  ;  the  extemporizer  of  the  loftiest  lit- 
any in  existence,  withal  the  author  of  the  pun- 
gent Proverbs ;  able  to  mount  up  on  Eapture's 
ethereal  pinion  to  the  region  of  the  seraphim, 
but  keenly  alive  to  all  the  details  of  business, 
and  shrewd  in  his  human  intercourse ;  zealous 
in  collecting  gold,  yet  lavish  in  expending  it ; 
sumptuous  in  his  tastes,  and  splendid  in  cos- 
tume; and,  except  in  so  far  as  intellectual 
vastitude  necessitated  a  certain  catholicity — 
the  patriot  intense,  the  Israelite  indeed :  like  a 
Colossus  on  a  mountain-top,  his  sunward  side 
was  the  glory  toward  which  one  Millennium 
of  his  nation  had  all  along  been  climbing, — his 
darker  side,  with  its  overlapping  beams,  is  still 
the  mightiest  object  in  that  nation's  memory. 

You  have  seen  a  blight  in  summer.  The 
sky  is  overcast,  and  yet  there  are  no  clouds ; 
nothing  but  a  dry  and  stifling  obscuration — as 
if  the  mouth  of  some  pestilent  volcano  had 


LECTURE   I. 


opened,  or  as  if  sulphur  mingled  with,  the  sun- 
beams. "  The  beasts  groan  ;  the  cattle  are  op- 
pressed.7' From  the  trees  the  embryo  fruits 
and  the  remaining  blossoms  fall  in  an  unno- 
ticed shower,  and  the  foliage  curls  and  crum- 
ples. And  whilst  creation  looks  disconsolate, 
in  the  hedgerows  the  heavy  moths  begin  to 
flutter,  and  ominous  owlets  cry  from  the  ruin. 
Such  a  blight  came  over  the  Hebrew  summer. 
By  every  calculation  it  ought  to  have  been 
high  noon ;  but  the  sun  no  longer  smiled  on 
Israel's  dial.  There  was  a  dark  discomfort  in 
the  air.  The  people  murmured.  The  mon- 
arch wheeled  along  with  greater  pomp  than 
ever ;  but  the  popular  prince  had  soured  into 
the  despot,  and  the  crown  sat  defiant  on  his 
moody  brow ;  and  stiff  were  the  obeisances, 
heartless  the  hosannas,  which  hailed  him  as  he 
passed.  The  ways  of  Zion  mourned ;  and 
whilst  grass  was  sprouting  in  the  temple-courts, 
mysterious  groves  and  impious  shrines  were 
rising  everywhere :  and  whilst  lust  defiled  the 
palace,  Chemosh  and  Ashtaroth,  and  other 
Gentile  abominations,  defiled  the  Holy  Land. 


THE   PREACHER. 


And  in  the  disastrous  eclipse,  beasts  of  the  for- 
est crept  abroad.  From  his  lurking-place  in 
Egypt  Hadad  ventured  out,  and  became  a  life- 
long torment  to  the  God-forsaken  monarch. 
And  Eezon  pounced  on  Damascus,  and  made 
Syria  his  own.  And  from  the  pagan  palaces 
of  Thebes  and  Memphis  harsh  cries  were  heard 
ever  and  anon,  Pharaoh  and  Jeroboam  taking 
counsel  together,  screeching  forth  their  threat- 
enings,  and  hooting  insults,  at  which  Solomon 
could  laugh  no  longer.  For  amidst  all  the 
gloom  and  misery  a  message  comes  from  God : 
the  kingdom  is  rent ;  and  whilst  Solomon's 
successor  will  only  have  a  fog-end  and  a  frag- 
ment, by  right  Divine  ten  tribes  are  handed 
over  to  a  rebel  and  a  runaway. 

What  led  to  Solomon's  apostasy  ?  And 
what,  again,  was  the  ulterior  effect  of  that 
apostasy  on  himself?  As  to  the  origin  of  his 
apostasy  the  Word  of  God  is  explicit.  He  did 
not  obey  his  own  maxim.  He  ceased  to  re- 
joice with  the  wife  of  his  youth ;  and  loving 
many  strangers,  they  drew  his  heart  away 
from  God.  Luxury  and  sinful  attachments 


10  LECTURE   I. 


made  him  an  idolater,  and  idolatry  made  him 
yet  more  licentious  :  until,  in  the  lazy  enerva- 
tion and  languid  day-dreaming  of  the  Sybarite, 
he  lost  the  perspicacity  of  the  sage,  and  the 
prowess  of  the  sovereign  ;  and  when  he  woke 
up  from  the  tipsy  swoon,  and  out  of  the  swine- 
trough  picked  his  tarnished  diadem,  he  woke 
to  find  his  faculties,  once  so  clear  and  limpid, 
all  perturbed,  his  strenuous  reason  paralyzed, 
and  his  healthful  fancy  poisoned.  He  woke 
to  find  the  world  grown  hollow,  and  himself 
grown  old.  He  woke  to  see  the  sun  bedark- 
ened  in  Israel's  sky,  and  a  special  gloom  en- 
compassing himself.  He  woke  to  recognize  all 
round  a  sadder  sight  than  winter — a  blasted 
summer.  Like  a  deluded  Samson  starting 
from  his  slumber,  he  felt  for  that  noted  wis- 
dom which  signalized  his  Nazarite  days ;  but 
its  locks  were  shorn ;  and,  cross  and  self-dis- 
gusted, wretched  and  guilty,  he  woke  up  to 
the  discovery  which  awaits  the  sated  sensual- 
ist ;  he  found  that  when  the  beast  gets  the  bet- 
ter of  the  man,  the  man  is  cast  off  by  God. 
And  like  one  who  falls  asleep  amidst  the  lights 


THE   PKEACHER.  11 

and  music  of  an  orchestra,  and  who  awakes 
amidst  empty  benches  and  tattered  programmes 
— like  a  man  who  falls  asleep  in  a  flower-gar- 
den, and  who  opens  his  eyes  on  a  bald  and  lo- 
cust-blackened wilderness, — the  life,  the  love- 
liness, was  vanished,  and  all  the  remaining 
spirit  of  the  mighty  Solomon  yawned  forth 
that  verdict  of  the  tired  voluptuary  : — "  Vani- 
ty of  vanities  !  vanity  of  vanities  !  all  is  van- 
ity I" 


LECTURE   II. 

Inntnn. 


*  The  words  of  the  Preacher,  the  son  of  David,  King  of  Jem* 
salem.  Vanity  of  vanities,  saith  the  Preacher,  vanity  of 
vanities;  all  is  vanity." — ECCLES.  i.  1,  2. 

THERE  are  some  books  of  the  Bible  wliicli 
can  only  be  read  with  thorough  profit,  when 
once  you  have  found  the  key.  Luther  some 
where  tells  us,  that  he  used  to  be  greatly 
damped  by  an  expression  in  the  outset  of  the 
Epistle  to  the  Romans.  The  apostle  says,  "  I 
am  not  ashamed  of  the  Gospel ;  for  therein  is 
the  righteousness  of  God  revealed."  By 
"righteousness"  Luther  understood  the  justice 
of  God — his  attributes  of  moral  rectitude ;  and 
so  understanding  it,  he  could  scarcely  see  the 
superiority  of  the  Gospel  over  the  Law,  and 
at  all  events,  his  troubled  conscience  could 


THE   SERMON.  13 


find  no  comfort  in  it.  But  when  at  last  it  was 
revealed  to  him  that  the  term  here  alludes  not 
to  an  attribute  of  God,  but  to  the  atonement 
of  Immanuel — that  it  means  not  justice,  but 
God's  justifying  righteousness — the  righteous- 
ness which  God  incarnate  wrought  out,  and 
which  is  imputed  to  the  sinner  believing — the 
whole  epistle  was  lit  up  with  a  joyful  illumi- 
nation ;  and  the  context,  and  many  other  pass- 
ages which  used  to  look  so  dark  and  hostile,  at 
once  "leaped  up  and  fondled"  him  with 
friendly  recognition :  and  to  Luther  ever  after 
the  Gospel  was  glorious  as  the  revelation  and 
the  vehicle  to  the  sinner  of  a  righteousness 
Divine.  To  take  another  instance :  many  read 
the  Book  of  Job  as  if  every  verse  were  equal- 
ly the  utterance  of  Jehovah ;  and  they  quote 
the  sayings  of  Bildad  and  Zophar  as  the  mind 
of  the  Most  High ;  entirely  forgetting  the 
avowed  structure  of  the  book — forgetting  that 
through .  five-and- thirty  chapters  the  several 
collocutors  are  permitted  to  reason  and  wran- 
gle, and  "  darken  counsel  by  words  without 
knowledge, "  in  order  to  make  the  contrast 


14  LECTURE   II. 


more  striking,  when  at  last  Jehovah  breaks 
silence  and  vindicates  his  own  procedure.  But 
when  you  advert  to  its  real  structure — when 
you  group  the  different  elements  of  its  poetic 
painting — when,  under  the  canopy  of  a  dark 
cloud,  you  see  the  patriarch  cowering,  and  his 
three  friends  assailing  him  with  calumnious 
explanations  of  his  sore  affliction  ;  but  above 
that  cloud  you  see  Jehovah  listening  to  his 
loyal  servant,  and  to  his  pious,  but  narrow- 
minded  neighbors — listening  with  a  look  of 
fatherly  fondness,  and  from  heaven's  cornuco- 
pia* ready  to  shower  on  his  servant's  head  the 
most  overwhelming  of  vindications — the  bless- 
ings twice  repeated,  which  Satan  snatched 
away :  when  you  see  this,  and  when  you  know 
that  Jehovah  is  to  be  the  last  speaker,  instead 
of  nervously  striving  to  torture  into  truths  the 
mistakes  of  Bildad  and  Zophar,  and  of  Job 
himself,  you  feel  that  their  mistakes  are  as 
natural  and  as  needful  to  the  plan  of  the  book, 
as  are  all  the  cross-purposes  and  contradictory 
colloquies  of  a  well-constructed  drama.  And 
*  J<  b.  xlii.  14,  Keren-happuch ;  i.  e.,  Horn  of  Plenty. 


THE   SERMON.  15 


when  so  understood,  you  feel  that  all  the 
rather  because  of  the  misconceptions  of  the 
human  speakers,  the  book  is  eloquent  with  Di- 
vine vindication,  and  teaches  what  Cowper 
sings  so  touchingly : — 

"  Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take  1 

The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 
Are  big  with  mercy,  and  shall  break 
In  blessings  on  your  head. 

"  Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 
And  scan  his  work  in  vain ; 
God  is  his  own  interpreter, 
And  he  will  make  it  plain." 

Perhaps  no  portion  of  Holy  Writ  more 
needs  a  key  than  the  subject  of  our  lecture. 
On  the  one  hand,  Ecclesiastes  has  always  been 
a  favorite  book  with  Infidels.  It  was  a  manual 
with  that  coarse  scoffer,  Frederick  the  Great 
of  Prussia ;  and  both  Volney  and  Voltaire  ap- 
peal to  it  in  support  of  their  skeptical  philoso- 
phy. Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  it  contains 
many  sentiments  at  seeming  variance  with  the 
general  purport  of  the  Word  of  God.  "  Be 
not  righteous  overmuch;  why  shouldst  thou 
destroy  thyself?"  "  All  things  come  alike  to 


16  LECTURE   II. 


all :  there  is  one  event  to  the  righteous  and  to 
the  wicked ;  to  him  that  sacrificeth,  and  to 
him  that  sacrificeth  not."  "There  is  a  time 
for  everything.  What  profit  hath  he  that 
worketh  in  that  wherein  he  laboreth?"  "  As 
the  beast  dieth,  so  dieth  man.  Do  not  both 
go  to  one  place?"  "A  man  hath  no  better 
thing  than  to  eat  and  drink  and  be  merry." 
These  texts,  and  many  like  them,  are  quoted 
by  the  moralists  of  expediency ;  by  the  fatalist, 
the  materialist,  the  Pyrrhonist,  the  epicure. 

On  the  other  hand,  many  able  commentators 
have  labored  hard  to  harmonize  such  passages 
with  the  sayings  of  Scripture ;  I  may  add, 
they  have  labored  hard  to  harmonize  them 
with  other  sayings  of  Solomon,  and  other 
passages  of  this  self-same  book.  But  I  cannot 
help  thinking  they  have  labored  in  vain.  For 
the  moment,  and  when  reading  or  listening  to 
some  eloquent  exposition,  you  may  persuade 
yourself  that  such  texts  are,  after  all,  only  pe- 
culiar and  paradoxical  ways  of  putting  im- 
portant truths ;  but  when  Procrustes  has  with- 
drawn his  pressure,  and  the  reluctant  sentence 


THE   SERMON.  17 

has  escaped  from  the  screw  and  lever,  it 
bounds  up  elastic,  and  looks  as  strange  and 
ungainly  as  ever.  Therefore,  others  have  met 
the  difficulty  by  suggesting  that,  like  Canticles, 
Ecclesiastes  is  a  dialogue  ;  and  into  the  mouth 
of  an  imaginary  objector,  they  put  every  sen- 
timent which  they  deem  unsuitable  to  an  in- 
spired penman.  For  such  interpellations,  how- 
ever, there  is .  no  foundation  in  the  context, 
where  nothing  is  more  obvious  than  the  con- 
tinuous identity  of  the  speaker ;  and  like  an- 
other exegetical  stratagem  which  would  invert 
the  meaning  of  such  passages  by  turning  them 
into  interrogatories,  you  feel  that  it  is  a  clever 
evasion  rather  than  a  conclusive  solution.* 
You  would  prefer  a  straightforward  exposition 
which  would  maintain  the  unity  of  the  book 
and  the  analogy  of  Scripture,  whilst  it  took 
the  words  as  they  stand. 

*  As  specimen  of  the  interrogatory  subterfuge,  the  reader 
may  compare  with  the  original  or  with  the  authorized  version 
the  following : — "  Shall  there  then  be  no  remembrance  of  past 
or  future  events?  Shall  there  be  no  memorial  of  them 
among  those  who  shall  come  after  us?" — i.  11.  "For  cannot 
that  which  is  crooked  be  made  straight  ?  Cannot  that  which 


18  LECTURE   II. 


This  is  the  sentence  with  which  Bcclesiastes 
closes :  "  Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the 
whole  matter :  Fear  God,  and  keep  his  com- 
mandments :  for  this  is  the  whole  duty  of  man. 
For  God  shall  bring  every  work  into  judg- 
ment, with  every  secret  thing,  whether  it  be 
good,  or  whether  it  be  evil."  This  is  the  con- 
clusion of  the  matter,  and  a  wise  and  whole- 
some conclusion,  worthy  of  Him  who  said, 
"  Seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  right- 
eousness, and  all  these  things  shall  be  added 
unto  you."  But  what  is  the  "  matter"  of  which 
this  is  the  "conclusion?"  To  ascertain  this 
we  must  go  back  to  the  beginning.  There  you 
read,  "  I  the  preacher  was  king  in  Jerusalem, 
and  I  gave  my  heart  to  search  out  by  wisdom 
concerning  all  things  that  are  done  under  heav- 
en. Then  I  said  in  my  heart,  Go  to  now,  I 
will  prove  thee  with  mirth:  therefore  enjoy 

is  wanting  be  supplied  ?" — i.  15.  "  Shall  I  therefore  hate  life, 
because  anything  wrought  under  the  sun  becomes  a  griev- 
ance unto  me  ?  Shall  I  hate  my  labor  which  I  take  under 
the  sun,  because  I  must  some  time  leave  it  to  the  man  who 
shall  succeed  me  ?"— ii.  17,  18.  (Barham's  Corrected  Trans- 
lation) Surely  the  sense  is  too  feeble  to  justify  such  a 
forced  construction. 


THE   SERMON.  19 


pleasure/ '  &c.  In  other  words,  you  find  that 
this  "  matter"  was  a  long  experiment,  which 
the  narrator  made  in  search  of  the  Supreme 
Felicity,  and  of  which  Ecclesiastes  records  the 
successive  stages.  But  how  does  it  record 
them  ?  By  virtually  repeating  them.  £jn  the 
exercise  of  his  poetic  power  the  historian  con- 
veys himself  and  his  reader  back  into  those 
days  of  vanity,  and  feels  anew  all  that  he  felt 
then  :  so  that,  in  the  course  of  his  rapid  mono- 
logue, he  stands  before  us,  by  turns  the  man 
of  science  and  the  man  of  pleasure,  the  fatalist, 
the  materialist,  the  skeptic,  the  epicurean,  and 
the  stoic,  with  a  few  earnest  and  enlightened 
interludes ;  till,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter,  he  sloughs  the  last  of  all  these  "  lying 
vanities,"  and  emerges  to  our^view,  the  noblest 
style  of  man,  the  believer  and  the  penitent./ 

This  we  believe  to  be  the  true  idea  of  the 
book.  We  would  describe  it  as  a  dramatic  bi- 
ography, in  which  Solomon  not  only  records 
but  re-enacts  the  successive  scenes  of  his  search 
after  happiness ;  a  descriptive  memoir,  in 
which  he  not  only  recites  his  past  experience, 


20  LECTURE  II. 


but  in  his  improvizing  fervor  becomes  the  va- 
rious phases  of  his  former  self  once  more.  He 
is  a  restored  backslider,  and  for  the  benefit  of 
his  son  and  his  subjects,  and,  under  the  guid- 
ance of  God's  Spirit,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Church,  he  writes  this  prodigal's  progress.  He 
is  a  returned  pilgrim  from  the  land  of  Nod, 
and  as  he  opens  the  portfolio  of  sketches  which 
he  took  before  his  eyes  were  turned  away 
from  viewing  vanity,  he  accompanies  them 
with  lively  and  realizing  repetitions  of  what 
he  felt  and  thought  during  those  wild  and  joy- 
less days.  Our  great  Edmund  Burke  once 
said  that  his  own  life  might  be  best  divided 
into  "fyttes"  or  "manias:"  that  his  life  began 
with  a  fit  poetical,  followed  by  a  fit  metaphys- 
ical, and  that  again  by  a  fit  rhetorical ;  that  he 
once  had  a  mania  for  statesmanship,  and  that 
this  again  had  subsided  into  the  mania  of  phil- 
osophical seclusion.  And  so  in  his  days  of 
apostasy,  the  soul  intense  of  Solomon  launched 
out  into  a  fit  of  study,  succeeded  by  a  fit  of 
luxury.  He  had  fits  of  grossness  and  refine- 
ment, a  mania  of  conviviality,  a  mania  of  mis- 


THE   SERMON.  21 


anthropy.  He  had  a  fit  of  building,  a  fit  of 
science,  a  fit  of  book-making;  and  they  all 
passed  off  in  collapses  of  disappointment  and 
paroxysms  of  downright  misery.  And  here, 
as  he  exhibits  these  successive  tableaux,  these 
facsimiles  of  his  former  self,  like  a  modern 
lyrist  on  St.  Cecilia's  day,  he  runs  the  diapason 
of  departed  passion,  and,  in  the  successive 
strophes  and  antistrophes,  he  feels  his  former 
frenzies  over  again,  in  order  that,  by  the  very 
vividness  of  the  representation,  we  may  be  all 
the  better  "  admonished."* 

"The  preacher  was  king  over  Israel,  and, 
because  he  was  wise,  he  taught  the  people 
knowledge.  He  sought  to  find  out  acceptable 
words,  and  that  which  was  written  was  up- 
right, "f  a  true  story,  a  real  statement  of  the 
case.  "And  by  these,  my  son,  be  admon- 
ished." 'Do  you,  my  son,  accept  this  father's 
legacy;  and  do  you,  my  people,  receive  at 
your  monarch's  hand  this  "Basilicon  Doron," 
this  autobiography  of  your  penitent  prince. 
/These  chapters  are  "  words  of  truth ;  revivals 

*  Chap.  xii.  12.  \  Chap.  i.  12 ;  xii.  9,  10. 


22  LECTURE  II. 


of  my  former  self — reproductions  of  my  rea- 
sonings and  regrets — my  fantastic  hopes  and 
blank  failures,  during  that  sad  voyage  round 
the  coasts  of  vanity.  ~~7'  By  these  be  admon- 
ished." Without  repeating  the  guilty  experi- 
ment, learn  the  painful  result — listen  to  the 
moans  of  a  melancholy  worldling ;  for  I  shall 
sing  again  some  of  those  doleful  ditties  for 
which  I  exchanged  the  songs  of  Zion.  |  Look 
at  these  portraits — they  are  not  fancy  sketches 
— they  are  my  former  self,  or  rather,  my  for- 
mer selves :  that  lay  figure  in  the  royal  robes, 
surmounted  first  by  the  lantern-jaws  of  the 
book- worm,  now  exchanged  for  the  jolly  vis- 
age of  the  gay  gourmand,  and  presently  refin- 
ing into  the  glossy  locks  and  languid  smile  of 
the  Hebrew  exquisite :  now  chuckling  with 
the  merriment  of  the  laughing  philosopher, 
curling  anon  into  the  bitter  sneer  of  the  Cynic, 
and  each  in  succession  exploding  in  smoke ; 
not  a  masque,  not  a  mummery,  not  a  series  of 
make-believers,  but  each  a  genuine  evolution 
of  the  various  Solomon — look  at  these  pictures, 
ye  worldlings,  and  as  in  water  face  answers  to 


THE   SERMON.  23 


face,  so  in  one  or  other  of  these  recognize  your 
present  likeness  and  foresee  your  destiny.5 ]\ 

"  All  Scripture  is  given  by  inspiration  of 
God,'7  and  it  is  not  the  less  "  profitable"  be- 
cause some  of  it  is  the  inspired  record  of  hu- 
man infirmity.  The  seventy-third  Psalm  is  a 
lesser  Bcclesiastes.  There  Asaph  tells  us  the 
workings  of  his  mind  when  he  saw  the  pros- 
perity of  the  wicked.  "  Behold,  these  are  the 
ungodly,  who  prosper  in  the  world.  Verily,  I 
have  cleansed  my  heart  in  vain,  and  washed 
my  hands  in  innocency."  And  he  was  so  full 
of  resentment  and  envy  that  his  "  feet  .were  al- 
most gone."  He  had  "  well  nigh  slipped"  into 
utter  apostasy :  when  a  timely  visit  to  the 
sanctuary  intercepted  his  fall.  There  two  for- 
gotten verities  flashed  upon  his  mind : — the 
coming  retribution,  and  the  all-sufficiency  of 
the  believer's  portion.  "  Nevertheless,  I  am 
continually  with  thee :  thou  hast  holden  me 
by  my  right  hand.  Thou  shalt  guide  me  with 
thy  counsel,  and  afterward  receive  me  to  glory. 
Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee  ?  and  there 
is  none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  beside  thee. 


24  LECTURE   II. 


My  flesh  and  my  heart  faileth:  but  God  is 
the  strength  of  my  heart,  and  my  portion  for- 
ever. For  lo,  they  that  are  far  from  thee  shall 
perish :  thou  hast  destroyed  all  them  that  go 
a- whoring  from  thee.  But  it  is  good  for  me  to 
draw  near  to  God:  I  have  put  my  trust  in 
the  Lord  God,  that  I  may  declare  all  thy 
works."  And  just  as  Asaph's  heart  for  a  time 
was  "  grieved," — "  So  foolish  was  I,  and  igno- 
rant :  I  was  as  a  beast  before  thee," — so  Sol- 
omon's feet  actually  slipped,  and  in  this  book 
he  gives  us  his  various  reasonings  whilst  still 
a  backslider.  And  just  as  Asaph's  "conclu- 
sion of  the  whole  matter77  was  the  blessedness 
of  piety'  and  the  certainty  of  righteous  retribu- 
tion,— "  It  is  good  for  me  to  draw  near  to  God : 
they  that  are  far  from  thee  shall  perish," — so 
Solomon's  conclusion  is  identical ;  "  Fear  God, 
and  keep  his  commandments :  for  this  is  the 
whole  of  man.  For  God  shall  bring  every 
work  into  judgment,  with  every  secret  thing, 
whether  it  be  good,  or  whether  it  be  evil."  It 
need,  therefore,  in  no  wise  surprise  us  if  we 
find  in  these  chapters  many  strange  question- 


THE   SERMON.  25 


ings  and  startling  opinions,  before  we  arrive 
at  the  final  conclusion.  Intermingled  with 
much  that  is  noble  and  holy,  these  "  doubtful 
disputations"  are  not  the  dialogue  of  a  believer 
and  an  infidel,  but  the  soliloquy  of  a  "  divide^. 
.heaj;t" — the  debate  of  a  truant  will  with  an 
upbraiding  conscience.  As  we  listen  to  the 
inward  colloquy  we  could  sometimes  fancy  that 
we  hear  a  worldling  and  a  skeptic  contending 
with  an  Abdiel.  But,  after  all,  it  is  only  the 
fitful  meditation  of  one  who  once  knew  better, 
and  who,  by  bitter  discipline,  is  learning  anew 
the  lesson  of  his  youth.  We  know  not  to  what 
better  to  compare  it  than  a  labyrinthine  jour- 
ney underground.  Impatient  of  the  daylight 
— quitting  those  pastures  green  and  paths  of 
righteousness  in  which  he  had  walked  with  his 
saintly  sire — tired  of  religion  and  its  simple 
pleasures,  he  dives  into  a  subterranean  avenue 
which  is  to  end  in  a  Goshen  of  central  light — 
a  poet's  paradise  with  emerald  turf  and  flaming 
flowers.  And  the  first  portion  of  his  fantastic 
path  is  lighted  by  radiance  from  the  entrance 
— the  re-collected  knowledge  of  his  wiser  days. 


26  LECTURE  II. 


But  that  dim  twilight  fades,  and  the  explorer 
quickly  finds  that  even  Solomon  is  not  phos- 
phorescent, and,  stumbling  on,  he  souses  into 
a  fetid  quag.  Struggling  through  the  slough 
of  sensuality,  he  reaches  a  brilliant  cave,  where 
stalactites  of  crystal  glorify  the  beams  trans- 
mitted through  the  fissured  roof,  and  where 
the  very  stones  are  musical ;  and,  for  a  season, 
the  royal  pilgrim  expatiates  in  a  temple  sacred 
to  architecture  and  each  fine  art.  But,  wearied 
with  its  splendor,  shivering  at  its  frosty  ele- 
gance, he  presses  on  again ;  and,  except  when 
now  and  then  a  shaft  overhead  lets  down  some 
light  into  the  dreary  tunnel,  all  benighted, — 
as  on  the  rugged  roof  he  strikes  his  brow,  or 
on  the  flinty  splinters  wounds  his  feet, — we 
can  overhear  the  muffled  voice  which  execrates 
the  vexation  and  the  vanity.  And  when,  at 
last,  with  sullied  robes  and  grisled  locks  he 
emerges  to  the  spot  from  which  he  started,  he 
grudges  so  long  a  journey,  and  a  route  so 
painful,  back  to  his  better  self;  and,  resuming 
his  old  position,  though  scarcely  regaining  his 
original  cheerfulness,  he  advises  us  to  be  con 


THE  SERMON.  27 


tent  with  his  experiment  and  to  begin  with 
his  "  conclusion."  If,  therefore,  we  remember 
the  real  structure  of  the  book,  and  as  a  lamp 
to  its  dim  passages  take  the  light  from  its 
final  landing-place,  much  of  its  obscurity  will 
flee  away  ;  and  we  may  listen  without  disquiet 
to  the  darkest  queries  and  most  desperate 
declarations  of  Solomon  benighted,  when  in 
Solomon  recovered  we  expect  the  answer  and 
the  antidote. 

There  is  little  difference  in  men's  bodily 
stature.  A  fathom,  or  thereabouts — a  little 
more  or  a  little  less — is  the  ordinary  elevation 
of  the  human  family.  Should  a  man  add  a 
cubit  to  this  stature,  he  is  followed  along  the 
streets  as  a  prodigy ;  should  he  fall  very  far 
short  of  it,  people  pay  money  for  a  sight  of  him, 
as  a  great  curiosity.  But,  were  there  any  ex- 
act measurement  of  mental  statures,  we  should 
be  struck  by  an  amazing  diversity.  We  should 
find  pigmy  intellects  too  frequent  to  be  curios- 
ities. We  should  find  fragile  understandings 
to  which  the  grasshopper  is  a  burden,  and 


28  LECTURE   II. 


dwarfish  capacities  unable  to  grapple  with  the 
easiest  problems :  whilst,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  should  encounter  a  few  colossal  minds,  of 
which  the  altitude  must  be  taken  not  in  feet, 
but  in  furlongs — tall,  culminating  minds,  which 
command  the  entire  tract  of  existing  knowl- 
edge— minds  whose  horizon  is  their  coeval 
hemisphere ;  or,  loftier  still,  prophetic  minds, 
on  which  is  already  shining  the  unrisen  sun 
of  some  future  century. 

Such  a  mind  was  Solomon's.  His  informa- 
tion was  vast.  He  was  the  Encyclopaedia  of 
that  early  age.  He  was  an  adept  in  the  natu- 
ral sciences  : — "  He  spake  of  trees,  from  the 
cedar  to  the  hyssop  ;  he  spake  also  of  beasts, 
and  of  fowl,  and  of  creeping  things,  and  of 
fishes,"  as  the  sacred  historian  simply  words 
it ;  or,  in  modern  terminology,  he  was  a  bot- 
anist, and  acquainted  with  all  departments  of 
zoology,  from  the  annelida  up  to  the  higher 
vertebrata.  His  wisdom  excelled  the  wisdom 
of  all  the  children  of  the  East  country,  and  all 
the  children  of  Egypt.  And  then  his  origi- 
nality was  equal  to  his  information.  He  was 


THE  SERMON.  29 


a  poet :  his  "  Songs"  were  upwards  of  a  thou- 
sand. And  a  moralist :  his  proverbs  were 
three  thousand.  He  was  a  sagacious  politi- 
cian ;  and  as  the  chief  magistrate  of  his  own 
empire,  he  was  famous  for  the  equity  and 
acuteness  of  his  decisions.  He  had  a  splendid 
taste  in  architecture  and  landscape-gardening ; 
and  his  enormous  wealth  enabled  him  to  con- 
jure into  palpable  realities  the  visions  of  his 
gorgeous  imagination ;  whilst,  to  crown  the 
whole — unlike  Moses  and  many  others,  men 
of  stately  intellect,  but  stammering  speech — 
the  wisdom  of  Solomon  found  utterance  in 
language  like  itself;  and  whilst  the  eloquence 
still  lived  of  which  the  Bible  has  preserved 
some  examples,  crowned  students  and  royal 
disciples  came  from  the  utmost  parts  of  the 
earth  to  hear  the  wisdom  of  Solomon. 

Now,  this  man,  so  mightily  endowed;  if 
you  add  to  his  intellectual  elevation  the  pe- 
destal of  his  rare  good  fortune,  mounting  the 
genius  of  the  sage  on  the  throne  of  the  sove- 
reign— this  peerless  man,  this  prime  specimen 
of  humanity — it  would  appear  that  Providence 


30  LECTUKE  II. 


raised  up,  for  this,  among  other  purposes. 
From  the  day  when  Adarn  fell  it  had  been  the 
great  inquiry  among  men,  Where  and  how  to 
find  the  true  felicity  ?  And  though  the  Most 
High  assured  them  that  they  could  only  find 
it  where  they  had  formerly  enjoyed  it — in  uni- 
son with  Himself,  and  in  his  conscious  friend- 
ship :  of  this  they  were  quite  incredulous.  It 
was  still  the  problem,  Apart  from  infinite  ex- 
cellence, how  shall  we  be  happy  ?  Though 
blessedness  was  not  far  from  any  one  of  them, 
in  delirious  search  of  it,  men  burrowed  in  gold 
mines,  and  rummaged  in  the  rubbish-heaps, 
drilled  deep  into  the  rock,  and  dived  deep  into 
the  sea.  And  though  none  succeeded,  few  de- 
spaired. There  was  always  an  apology  for 
failure.  They  had  sought  in  the  right  direc- 
tion, but  with  inadequate  appliances.  They 
were  not  rich  enough ;  they  were  not  strong 
enough ;  they  were  not  clever  enough.  Had 
they  been  only  a  little  wealthier;  had  they 
been  better  educated ;  had  they  possessed 
mfre  leisure,  talent,  power — they  were  just 
about  to  touch  the  talisman :  they  would  have 


THE   SERMON.  31 


brought  to  light  the  philosopher's  stone.  And 
as  it  is  part  of  man's  ungodliness  to  believe  his 
fellow-sinner  more  than  his  Creator,  the  Most 
High  provided  an  unimpeachable  testimony. 
He  raised  up  Solomon.  He  made  him  healthy 
and  handsome — wise  and  brilliant.  He  poured 
wealth  into  his  lap,  till  it  ran  over ;  he  made 
him  absolute  monarch  of  the  finest  kingdom 
which  the  world  at  that  time  offered ;  and,  in- 
stead of  savages  and  pagans,  gave  him  for  his 
subjects  a  civilized  and  a  religious  people. 
And  that  he  might  not  be  distracted  by  wars 
and  rumors  of  wars,  he  put  into  his  hand  a 
peaceful  sceptre,  and  saved  him  from  the  hard- 
ships of  the  field  and  the  perils  of  the  fight. 
And  thus  endowed  and  thus  favored,  Solomon 
commenced  the  search  after  happiness.  Every- 
thing except  godly,  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
art  of  enjoyment.  And  in  carrying  on  his 
own  experiment  he  unwittingly,  but  effectu- 
ally, became  God's  demonstration.  Into  the 
crucible  he  cast  rank  and  beauty,  wealth  and 
learning ;  and,  as  a  flux,  he  added  youth  and 
genius ;  and  then,  with  all  the  ardor  of  his 


32  LECTURE   II. 


vehement  nature,  he  urged  the  furnace  to  its 
whitest  glow.  But  when  the  grand  projection 
took  place,  from  all  the  costly  ingredients  the 
entire  residuum  was,  Yanity  of  vanities !  And 
ere  he  left  the  laboratory,  he  made  ink  of  the 
ashes ;  and  in  the  confessions  of  a  converted 
worldling,  he  was  constrained  to  write  one  of 
the  saddest  books  in  all  the  Bible. 

His  first  recourse  was  knowledge.  Com- 
muning with  his  own  heart,  he  said,  "Lo,  I 
am  come  to  great  estate,  and  have  gotten  more 
wisdom  than  all  they  that  have  been  before 
me  in  Jerusalem  :  yea,  my  heart  had  great  ex- 
perience of  wisdom  and  knowledge.  And  I 
gave  my  heart  to  know  (more)  wisdom,  and  to 
know  madness  and  folly  (that  is,  mirth  and 
satire) :  I  perceived  that  this  also  is  vexation 
of  spirit.  For  in  much  wisdom  is  much  grief: 
and  he  that  increaseth  knowledge  increaseth 
sorrow."  And,  as  he  adds  elsewhere,  "Of 
making  many  books  there  is  no  end;  and 
much  study  is  a  weariness  to  the  flesh." 

No,  no.  Carpe  horam.  Life  is  short,  and 
learning  slow.  Quit  that  dingy  study,  and  out 


THE   SERMON.  83 


into  the  laughing  world.  Make  a  bonfire  of 
these  books,  and  fill  your  reed-quiver  with 
bird-bolts.  Exchange  the  man  of  letters  for 
the  man  of  pleasure.  And  so  he  did.  "I 
gave  myself  to  wine,  I  made  me  great  works, 
I  builded  me  houses,  I  planted  me  vineyards." 
But  here,  too,  he  was  destined  to  disappoint- 
ment. For  the  coarse  pleasures  of  the  carouse 
and  the  wine-cup  his  cultivated  mind  had  little 
affinity ;  and  when  next  morning  revealed  the 
faded  chaplets,  the  goblets  capsized,  and  the 
red  wine-pools  on  the  floor  of  the  banquet- 
hall  ;  when  the  merry-making  of  yesternight 
only  lived  in  the  misery  of  the  morning,  he 
exc]  aimed,  u  Such  laughter  is  mad  ;  and  such 
mirth,  what  doeth  it?"  And  so  of  the  more 
elegant  pastimes — the  palace,  the  fish-pond, 
the  flower-garden,  the  menagerie, — the  enjoy- 
ment ended  when  the  plan  was  executed ;  and 
as  soon  as  the  collection  was  completed,  the 
pleasure  of  the  collector  ceased.  "Then  I 
looked  017.  all  the  works  that  my  hands  had 
wrought,  and  on  the  labor  that  I  had  labored 
to  do :  and,  behold,  all  was  vanity  and  vexa- 


34:  LECTURE   II. 


tion  of  spirit,  and  there  was  no  profit  under 
the  sun." 

But  there  still  remained  one  solace.  There 
must  be  something  very  sweet  in  absolute 
power.  Though  the  battle  has  been  going  on 
for  six  thousand  years,  and  the  odds  are  over- 
whelming— a  million  resisting  one — yet  still 
the  love  of  power  is  so  tremendous, — to  say  to 
one,  Go,  and  he  goeth;  and  to  another,  Do 
this,  and  he  doeth  it — the  right  to  say  this  is 
so  delicious,  that  sooner  or  later,  the  million 
lose  the  battle,  and  find  the  one  their  master. 
Now,  this  ascendency  over  others  Solomon 
possessed  to  a  rare  degree.  "The  Preacher 
was  king  in  Jerusalem.""  He  was  absolute 
monarch  there.  And  to  natter  his  instinct  of 
government  still  more,  surrounding  states  and 
sovereigns  all  did  homage  at  Jerusalem.  But 
no  sooner  did  he  find  his  power  thus  supreme 
and  unchallenged,  than  he  began  to  be  visited 
with  misgivings  as  to  his  successor — misgiv- 
ings for  which  the  sequel  showed  that  there 
was  too  good  reason.  "  Yea,  I  hated  all  the 
labor  which  I  had  taken  under  the  sun,  be- 


THE   SEKMON.  35 


cause  I  should  leave  it  unto  the  man  that  shall 
be  after  me.  And  who  knoweth  whether  he 
shall  be  a  wise  man  or  a  fool  ?  Yet  shall  he 
have  rule  over  all  my  labor  wherein  I  have 
labored,  and  wherein  I  have  showed  myself 
wise  under  the  sun.  This  is  also  vanity." 

And  I  need  not  say  how  the  experience  of 
most  worldlings  has  been  Solomon's  sorrow 
repeated,  with  the  variations  incident  to  al- 
tered circumstances,  and  the  diminished  in- 
tensity to  be  expected  in  feebler  men — vanity 
and  vexation  of  spirit  all  over  again.  And  as 
we  are  sometimes  more  impressed  by  modern 
instances  than  by  Bible  examples,  we  could 
call  into  court  nearly  as  many  witnesses  as 
there  have  been  hunters  of  happiness — mighty 
Nimrods  in  the  chase  of  Pleasure,  and  Fame, 
and  Power.  We  might  ask  the  statesman, 
and,  as  we  wished  him  a  happy  new  year, 
Lord  Dundas  would  answer,  "  It  had  need  to 
be  happier  than  the  last,  for  I  never  knew  one 
happy  day  in  it."  We  might  ask  the  success- 
ful lawyer,  and  the  wariest,  luckiest,  most  self- 
complacent  of  them  all  would  answer,  as  Lord 


36  LECTURE   II. 


Eldon  was  privately  recording  when  the  whole 
Bar  envied  the  Chancellor, — "A  few  weeks 
will  send  me  to  dear  Encombe,  as  a  short 
resting-place  between  vexation  and  the  grave/' 
We  might  ask  the  golden  millionaire,  "  You 
must  be  a  happy  man,  Mr.  Kothschild."  "  Hap- 
py!— me  happy!  "What!  happy,  when  just 
as  you  are  going  to  dine  you  have  a  letter 
placed  in  your  hand,  saying,  c  If  you  do  not 
send  me  £500,  I  will  blow  your  brains  out?'" 
Happy !  when  you  have  to  sleep  with  pistols 
at  your  pillow?  We  might  ask  the  clever 
artist,  and  our  gifted  countryman  would  an- 
swer of  whose  latter  days  a  brother  writes,  "  In 
the  studio,  all  the  pictures  seemed  to  stand  up 
like  enemies  to  receive  me.  This  joy  in  labor, 
this  desire  for  fame,  what  have  they  done  for 
him  ?  The  walls  of  this  gaunt  sounding  place, 
the  frames,  even  some  of  the  canvasses,  are 
furred  with  damp.  In  the  little  library,  where 
he  painted  last,  was  the  word  ' Nepenthe?' 
written  interrogatingly  with  white  chalk  on 
the  wall."*  We  might  ask  the  world-famed 

*  Memoir  of  David  Scott,  R.S.A, 


THE    SERMON.  ,37 


warrior,  and  get  for  another  answer  the  "  Mis- 
erere'7 of  the  Emperor-monk,*  or  the  sigh  of  a 
broken  heart  from  St.  Helena.  We  might  ask 
the  brilliant  courtier,  and  Lord  Chesterfield 
would  tell  us,  "  I  have  enjoyed  all  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  world,  and  I  do  not  regret  their 
loss.  I  have  been  behind  the  scenes.  I  have 
seen  all  the  coarse  pulleys  and  dirty  ropes 
which  move  the  gaudy  machines ;  and  I  have 
seen  and  smelt  the  tallow  candles  which  illu- 
minate the  whole  decorations,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  an  ignorant  audience.' '  We  might 
ask  the  dazzling  wit,  and,  faint  with  a  glut  of 
glory,  yet  disgusted  with  the  creatures  who 
adored  him,  Yoltaire  would  condense  the  es- 
sence of  his  existence  into  one  word,  "  Ennui.11 
And  we  might  ask  the  world's  poet,  and  we 
would  be  answered  with  an  imprecation  by 
that  splendid  genius,  f  who 

"  Drank  every  cup  of  joy,  heard  every  trump 
Of  fame  ;  drank  early,  deeply  drank ;  drank  draughts 
That  common  millions  might  have  quenched — then  died 
Of  thirst,  because  there  was  no  more  to  drink." 


*  Charles  V.  f  Byron. 


38  LECTUKE   II. 


But  without  going  so  far  as  these  historic 
instances,  I  make  my  appeal  to  all  the  candor 
and  self-knowledge  here  present,  and  I  ask, 
Who  is  there  that,  apart  from  God's  favor, 
has  ever  tasted  solid  joy  and  satisfaction  of 
spirit?  You  have  perhaps  tried  learning. 
You  have  wearied  your  flesh  acquiring  some 
branch  of  knowledge,  or  mastering  the  arcana 
of  some  science ;  and  you  promised  yourself 
that,  when  once  you  were  an  adept,  it  would 
introduce  you  to  a  circle  of  transcendental 
friends,  or  would  drown  you  in  a  flood  of  gol- 
den fame.  You  won  the  friends,  and,  apart 
from  this  special  accomplishment,  you  found 
them  so  full  of  petty  feuds  and  jealousies,  so 
cold-hearted  or  so  coarse-minded,  that  you  in- 
wardly abjured  them,  and  vowed  that  you 
must  follow  learning  for  its  own  rewards ;  or 
you  won  the  fame — you  secured  the  prize — 
you  caught  the  coveted  distinction,  and  like 
the  senior  wrangler,*  you  found  that  you  had 
"grasped  a  shadow. "  Or  you  tried  some 
course  of  gaiety.  You  said,  "  Gro  to  now — I 

*  Henry  Martyn. 


THE   SERMON.  39 


will  prove  thee  with  mirth;  therefore  enjoy 
pleasure/7  You  dressed — you  took  pains  with 
your  appearance ;  you  studied  the  art  of  pleas- 
ing. But  even  self-love  could  not  disguise 
that  some  rival  was  more  dazzling,  more  grace- 
ful and  self-possessed,  and  had  made  a  more 
brilliant  impression :  and  you  came  home  mor- 
tified at  your  own  sheepishness  and  rustic 
blundering ;  or,  if  content  to  mingle  passively 
in  others'  merriment,  tattling  with  the  talkers, 
and  drifting  along  the  tide  of  drollery,  was 
there  no  pensive  reflection  as,  late  at  night, 
you  sought  your  dwelling  ? — did  you  not  say 
of  laughter,  "It  is  mad  ?  and  of  mirth,  What 
doeth  it  ?"  Or,  perhaps,  at  some  pleasant  time 
of  the  year,  you  made  up  a  famous  ploy.  And 
the  excursion  went  off,  but  the  promised  en- 
joyment never  came  up.  Mountain  breezes 
did  not  blow  away  your  vexing  memories,  nor 
did  the  soft  sea- wind  heal  your  wounded  spirit. 
In  the  rapid  train  you  darted  swiftly,  but  at 
the  journey's  end  you  were  mortified  to  find 
that  your  evil  temper  had  travelled  by  the 
same  conveyance.  And  though  it  was  a  clas- 


40  LECTURE  II. 


sic  or  a  sacred  stream  into  which  you  looked, 
not  even  Arethusa  nor  Siloah  could  polish, 
from  off  your  countenance  the  furrows  of  cark- 
ing  anxiety,  or  the  frown  of  crossness  which 
wrinkled  there.  The  truth  is,  all  will  be  van- 
ity to  the  heart  which  is  vile,  and  all  will  be 
vexation  to  the  spirit  which  the  peace  of  God 
is  not  possessing.  When  you  remember  how 
vast  is  the  soul  of  man,  and  also  what  a  mighty 
virus  of  depravity  pervades  it,  you  might  as 
well  ask,  How  many  showers  will  it  need  to 
make  the  salt  ocean  fresh  ?  as  ask,  How  many 
mercies  will  it  need  to  niake  a  murmuring 
spirit  thankful  and  happy?  You  might  as 
soon  ask,  How  many  buckets  of  water  must 
you  pour  down  the  crater  of  Etna  before  you 
convert  the  volcano  into  a  cool  and  crystal 
jet-d'eau?  as  ask,  How  many  bounties  must 
Providence  pour  into  a  worldling's  spirit  be- 
fore it  that  spirit  will  cease  to  evaporate  them 
into  vanity,  or  send  them  fuming  back  in  com- 
plaint and  vexation  ? — 

"  Attempt  how  vain — 
With  things  of  earthly  sort,  with  aught  but  God, 


THE  SERMON.  41 


With  aught  but  moral  excellence,  truth,  and  love — 

To  satisfy  and  fill  the  immortal  soul  1 

To  satisfy  the  ocean  with  a  drop ; 

To  marry  immortality  to  death  ; 

And  with  the  unsubstantial  shade  of  time, 

To  fill  the  embrace  of  all  eternity  1"* 

*  Pollok's  "  Course  of  Time  "  book  iv. 


LECTURE  III. 

''• 

$  Mtnln  tliflti  InlomntL 

"  The  Queen  of  the  South  ....  came  from  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth  to  hear  the  wisdom  of  Solomon ;  and, 
behold,  a  greater  than  Solomon  is  here." — MATT.  xii.  42. 

IT  was  autumn  with  the  Hebrew  common- 
wealth. Like  withered  leaves  from  the  sap- 
less tree,  the  Jews  easily  parted  from  the  pa- 
rent Palestine,  and  were  blown  about,  adven- 
turers in  every  land ;  and  like  that  fungous 
vegetation  which  rushes  up  when  nobler  plants 
have  faded,  formalism  and  infidelity  were  rank- 
ly  springing  everywhere ;  and  it  was  only  a 
berry  on  the  topmost  bough — some  mellow 
Simeon  or  Zacharias — that  reminded  you  of 
the  rich  old  piety.  The  sceptre  had  not  quite 
departed  from  Judah,  but  he  who  held  it  was 
a  puppet  in  the  Gentiles'  hand ;  and  with  ship- 


"1 

A  GREATER  THAN  SOLOMON.  43 


less  harbors,  and  silent  oracles,  with  Eoman 
sentinels  on  every  public  building,  and  Eoman 
tax-gatherers  in  every  town,  patriotism  felt  too 
surely,  that  from  the  land  of  Joshua  and  Sam- 
uel, of  Elijah  and  Isaiah,  of  David  and  Solo- 
mon, the  glory  was  at  last  departing.  The 
sky  was  lead,  the  air  a  winding-sheet;  and 
every  token  told  that  a  long  winter  was  setting 
in.  It  was  even  then,  amid  the  short  days  and 
sombre  sunsets  of  the  waning  dynasty,  when 
music  filled  the  firmament,  and  in  the  city  of 
David  a  mighty  Prince  was  born.  He  grew 
in  stature,  and  in  due  time  was  manifested  to 
Israel.  And  what  was  the  appearance  of  this 
greater  than  Solomon  ?  What  were  his  royal 
robes?  The  attire  of  a  common  Nazarene. 
What  were  his  palaces?  A  carpenter's  cot- 
tage, which  He  sometimes  exchanged  for  a 
fisherman's  hut.  Who  were  his  Ministers  and 
his  Court  attendants?  Twelve  peasants.  And 
what  was  his  state  chariot  ?  None  could  He 
afford ;  but  in  one  special  procession  He  rode 
on  a  borrowed  ass.  Ah !  said  we  so  ?  His 
royal  robe  was  heaven's  splendor,  whenever 


44  LECTURE   III. 

He  chose  to  let  it  through ;  and  Solomon,  in 
all  his  glory,  was  never  arrayed  like  Jesus  on 
Tabor.  His  palace  was  the  heaven  of  heav- 
ens ;  and  when  a  voluntary  exile  from  it,  lit- 
tle did  it  matter  whether  his  occasional  lodg- 
ing were  a  rustic  hovel,  or  Herod's  halls.  If 
fishermen  were  his  friends,  angels  were  his  ser- 
vants ;  and  if  the  borrowed  colt  was  his  tri- 
umphal charger,  the  sea  was  proud  when,  from 
crest  to  crest  of  its  foaming  billows,  it  felt  his 
majestic  footsteps  moving ;  and  when  the  time 
had  arrived  for  returning  to  his  Father  and 
his  God,  the  clouds  lent  the  chariot,  and  obse- 
quious airs  upbore  Him  in  their  reverent  hands. 
Solomon's  pulpit  was  a  throne,  and  he  had  an 
audience  of  kings  and  queens.  The  Saviour 's 
synagogue  was  a  mountain-side — his  pulpit 
was  a  grassy  knoll  or  a  fishing-boat — his  au- 
dience were  the  boors  of  Galilee  ;  and  yet,  in 
point  of  intrinsic  greatness,  Solomon  did  not 
more  excel  the  children  playing  in  the  market- 
place, than  He  who  preached  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  excelled  King  Solomon. 

Looking  at  Solomon  as  a  Teacher,  the  first 


A   GKEATER  THAN  SOLOMON.  45 

thing  that  strikes  us  is,  that  he  was  a  great 
querist.  Next  to  the  man  who  can  answer  a 
question  thoroughly,  is  the  man  who  can  ask 
it  clearly.  Our  world  is  full  of  obscure  misery 
— dark  wants  and  dim  desiderata  :  like  a  man 
in  a  low  fever,  its  whole  head  is  sick,  and  its 
whole  heart  faint ;  but  it  can  neither  fix  ex- 
actly on  the  focus  of  disease,  nor  give  an  intel- 
ligent account  of  its  sensations.  But  in  this 
respect  Solomon  was  the  mouth-piece  of  hu- 
manity. Speaking  for  himself,  he  has  so  de- 
scribed the  symptoms,  that  a  whole  ward — an 
entire  world  of  fellow-sufferers — may  take  him 
for  their  spokesman.  "  These  are  exactly  my 
feelings.  I  have  experienced  all  that  he  de- 
scribes. I  am  just  such  another  fitful  anomaly 
— -just  such  a  constant  self-contradiction.  One 
day  I  wish  time  to  fly  faster ;  another  I  am 
appalled  to  find  that  so  little  remains.  One 
day  I  believe  that  I  shall  die  like  the  brutes ; 
and,  frantic  in  thinking  that  a  spirit  so  capa- 
cious is  to  perish  so  soon,  I  chafe  around  my 
cage,  and  beat  those  bars  of  flesh  which  inclose 
a  captive  so  god-like  ;  I  try  to  burst  that  cell 


46  LECTURE   III. 


which  is  ere  long  to  be  a  sepulchre :  anon  1 
am  content,  and  I  say,  'Eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  for  to-morrow  you  die  :7  and  no  sooner 
is  the  carnival  over  than  I  start  up,  conscious 
of  my  crime — descrying  the  forgotten  judg- 
ment-seat, and  aghast  at  my  own  impiety  in 
embruting  an  heir  of  immortality.  One  day  I 
deny  myself,  and  save  up  a  fortune  for  my  son 
and  successor ;  another,  it  strikes  me  he  may 
prove  a  prodigal,  and  I  fling  the  hoard  away. 
Now  it  seizes  me  that  I  must  needs  be  famous ; 
and  then  I  grow  disgusted  with  the  praise  of 
fools.  What  will  cure  a  broken  heart  ?  What 
will  fill  an  abysmal  gulf?  What  will  make  a 
crooked  nature  upright  ?  What  will  restore 
his  Creator  unto  man,  and  man  unto  himself?" 
And  Jesus  answers :  "  Believe  in  God  and 
believe  in  me,  and  that  faith  will  heal  heart- 
trouble.  Hunger  after  righteousness,  and  your 
craving  spirit  will  be  filled.  The  words  that  I 
speak  unto  you  are  spirit  and  life :  imbibe 
them,  ponder  them,  delight  in  them,  and  they 
will  satisfy  the  vastest  desires  of  the  most  eager 
soul.  What  will  make  the  crooked  upright  ? 


A   GKEATER  THAN  SOLOMON.  47 

Be  born  again.  What  will  restore  the  Creator 
to  revolted  man?  God  so  loved  the  world, 
that  he  gave  his  only-begotten  Son,  that  who- 
soever believeth  in  him  should  have  eternal 
life."  And  thus,  one  by  one,  the  great  Evan- 
gelist answers  the  queries  of  the  great  Eccle- 
siastes.  And  if  the  sage  has  done  a  service, 
who,  in  articulate  words,  describes  the  symp- 
toms of  the  great  disease,  how  incomparably 
greater  is  the  service  done  by  the  Saviour, 
who  prescribes  the  remedy  !  After  all,  Solomon 
is  only  an  eloquent  patient ;  Jesus  is  the  Di- 
vine Physician. 

Again  :  Solomon's  teaching  is  mainly  nega- 
tive. Five  centuries  later,  it  was  the  business 
of  the  wisest  Greek  to  teach  his  brethren 
knowledge  of  their  ignorance.  And  so  dex- 
terously did  he  manage  his  oblique  mirrors — • 
so  many  of  his  countrymen  did  he  surprise  with 
side-views  and  back- views  of  themselves ;  so 
much  fancied  knowledge  did  he  confute,  and 
so  many  Athenians  did  he  put  out  of  conceit 
with  themselves,  that  at  last  the  Athenians  lost 
conceit  of  him,  and  killed  the  mortifying  mis- 


48  LECTURE   III. 


sionary.  -  And,  like  Socrates,  Solomon  is  an 
apostle  of  sincerity.  His  pen  is  the  point  of 
a  diamond ;  and  as  it  touches  many  of  this 
world's  boasted  jewels,  it  shows  that  they  are 
only  colored  crystal.  His  sceptre  is  a  rod  of 
iron,  and  as  it  enabled  him  to  command  all 
pleasures,  so  it  enables  him  to  prove  their  nul- 
lity ;  and  before  his  indignant  stroke  they 
crash  like  potsherds,  and  dissipate  in  dust.  But 
more  sincere  than  Socrates.  His  tests,  his 
probes,  his  solar  lamp,  the  Greek  employed 
for  his  neighbors'  benefit ;  such  an  awful  ear- 
nestness had  God's  Spirit  enkindled  in  the 
Hebrew  sage,  that  his  grand  struggle  was 
against  self-deception  :  and  the  illusions  on 
which  he  spends  his  hottest  fury  are  the  phan- 
toms which  have  befooled  himself.  Socrates 
gossips ;  Solomon  communes  with  his  own 
heart.  Socrates  gets  his  comrade  to  confess  ; 
Solomon  makes  his  own  confession.  And  so 
terrible  is  his  intensity,  that  if  it  be  well  for 
our  modern  idoloclasts  and  showers-up  of 
shams  that  there  is  no  Socrates  now-a-days  to 
show  them  to  themselves,  it  will  be  well  for 


A  GREATER  THAN   SOLOMON.  49 

us  all  if  we  take  a  pattern  from  Solomon's 
noble  fidelity,  and  if  we  strive  after  his  stern 
self-knowledge.  And  yet  the  result  was  mainly 
negative.  He  had  dived  deep  enough  into  his 
nature  to  find  that  there  was  no  genuine  good- 
ness there  ;  and  from  the  height  of  his  stately 
intellect  he  swept  a  wide  horizon,  and  reported 
that  within  his  field  of  view  there  was  percep- 
tible no  genuine  happiness.  If  he  was  taller 
than  other  men,  he  was  sorry  to  announce  that, 
far  as  he  could  see,  no  fountain  of  joy  now 
sprang  in  this  desert:  no  tree  of  life  grew 
here-away.  If  he  was  stronger  than  other 
men,  he  had  bad  news  for  them  :  he  had  tried 
the  gate  of  Eden,  and  shoved  it  and  shaken 
it :  but  he  feared  no  mortal  shoulders  could 
move  it  on  its  hinges,  nor  any  human  contri- 
vance force  it  from  its  fastenings. 

But  if  Solomon  in  his  teaching  was  mainly 
negative,  Jesus  was  as  mainly  positive.  Sol- 
omon shook  his  head,  and  told  what  happiness 
is  not :  Jesus  opened  his  lips,  and  enunciated 
what  it  is.  Solomon  said,  "  Knowledge  is 
vanity.  Power  is  vanity.  Mirth  is  vanity. 
4 


50  LECTURE  III. 


Man  and  all  man's  pursuits  are  perfect  vanity." 
Jesus  said,  "  Humility  is  blessedness.  Meek- 
ness is  blessedness.  Purity  of  heart  is  bless- 
edness. God  is  blessed  for  evermore,  and  most 
blessed  is  the  creature  that  is  likest  God.  Ho- 
liness is  happiness."  "  We  labor  and  find  no 
rest,"  said  Solomon.  Jesus  answered,  "  Come 
unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest."  "  All  is  vanity,"  sighed  the  Preacher. 
"  In  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation,  but 
in  me  ye  shall  have  peace,"  replied  the  Saviour. 
"  What  is  truth  ?"  asks  Ecclesiastes.  "  I  am 
the  truth,"  returns  the  Divine  Evangelist. 
Solomon  was  tall  enough  to  scan  the  most  of 
earth  and  see  an  expanse  of  sorrow ;  the  Son 
of  Man  knew  all  that  is  in  heaven,  and  could 
tell  of  a  Comforter  who  fills  with  peace  un- 
speakable the  soul  immersed  in  outward  mis- 
ery. Solomon  could  tell  that  the  gate  of  bliss 
is  closed  against  human  effort.  Jesus  has  the 
key  of  David,  and  opens  what  Adam  shut; 
and  into  the  Father's  propitious  presence  He 
undertakes  to  usher  all  who  come  through 
Him.  Solomon  composed  Earth's  epitaph,  and 


A  GREATER  THAN  SOLOMON.  51 


on  the  tomb  of  the  species  wrote,  All  is 
Accustomed  to  date  men's  history  from  their 
death,  Jesus  substituted,  All  is  Heaven  or 
Hell* 

Nay,  so  positive  was  the  Saviour's  teaching, 
that,  in  order  to  understand  him  rightly,  we 
must  remember  that  he  was  not  only  the 
Prophet,  but  the  doctrine  ;  not  only  the  Oracle 
uttering  God's  truth,  but  his  very  self  that 
Truth.  Other  prophets  could  tell  what  God's 
mind  is :  Jesus  was  that  mind.  "  The  law" — 
a  portion  of  God's  will — "  was  given  by  Moses ; 
but  grace  and  truth" — the  gracious  reality,  the 
truthful  plenitude  of  the  Divine  perfections, 
"  came  by  Jesus  Christ."  He  was  the  express 
image  of  the  Father.  He  was  the  Word  In- 
carnate. And  to  many  a  query  of  man's  wist- 
ful spirit,  He  was  the  embodied  answer.  Is 
there  any  immortality  to  this  soul  ?  Is  there 
any  second  life  to  this  body  ?  "  In  my  Father's 
house  are  many  mansions.  I  go  to  prepare 
a  place  for  you,  and  I  will  come  again  and  re- 

*  Matt.  v.  3-12  ;  xi.  28-30.  John  xvi.  33  ;  xiv.  6,  16,  17. 
Rev.  ill  7.  John  x.  9  ;  vi.  37.  Luke  xvi.  19-31. 


52  LECTURE   III. 


ceive  you  to  myself."  "  I  am  the  Besurrection 
and  the  Life:  he  that  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die :  I  will  raise  him  up  at  the  last  day." 
Is  there  any  mediation  betwixt  man  and  his 
Maker  ? — is  there  any  forgiveness  of  sin  ?  "I 
am  the  way.  Whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  the 
Father  in  my  name,  He  will  give  it  you.  Go 
in  peace  :  thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee."  Is  there 
any  model  of  excellence  exempt  from  all  in- 
firmity ? — any  pattern  in  which  the  Most  High 
has  perfect  complacency  ?  "  He  was  holy  and 
harmless,  separate  from  sinners."  "  This  is  my 
beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleased : 
hear  ye  Him."  Solomon  was  wise  ;  but  Jesus 
was  Wisdom.  Solomon  had  more  understand- 
ing than  all  the  ancients ;  but  Jesus  was  that 
eternal  Wisdom  of  which  Solomon's  genius 
was  a  borrowed  spark — of  which  the  deep  flood 
of  Solomon's  information  was  only  an  emitted 
rill. 

To  which  we  only  add  the  contrast  in  their 
tone.  Each  had  a  certain  grandeur.  Solo- 
mon's speech  was  regal.  It  had  both  the  im- 
perial amplitude  and  the  autocratic  emphasis, 


A   GREATER  THAN   SOLOMON.  53 


— stately,  decisive,  peremptory.  But  the  Sa- 
viour's was  Divine.  There  was  no  pomp  of 
diction,  but  there  was  a  God-like  depth  of 
meaning ;  and  such  was  its  spontaneous  ma- 
jesty, that  the  hearer  felt,  How  easily  He  could 
speak  a  miracle !  And  miracles  He  often 
spake  ;  but  so  naturally  did  they  emerge  from 
his  discourse,  and  so  noiselessly  did  they  again 
subside  into  its  current,  that  we  as  frequently 
read  of  men  astonished  at  his  doctrine,  as  of 
men  amazed  at  his  doings.  But  though  both 
spake  with  authority — the  one  with  authority 
as  a  king  of  men,  the  other  with  authority  as 
the  Son  of  God — there  is  a  wonderful  differ- 
ence in  point  of  the  pervasive  feeling.  Like  a 
Prometheus  chained  to  the  rock  of  his  own  re- 
morse, the  Preacher  pours  forth  his  mighty 
woes  in  solitude,  and,  truly  human,  is  mainly 
piteous  of  itself.  Consequently  his  enthroned 
misery — his  self-absorbed  and  stately  sorrow, 
moves  you  to  wonder,  rather  than  to  weep ; 
and,  as  when  you  look  at  a  gladiator  dying  in 
marble,  in  your  compassion  there  is  not  much 
of  tenderness.  But  though  greater  in  his  sor- 


51  LECTURE   III. 


rows,  the  Saviour  was  also  greater  in  his  sym- 
pathies ;  and  though  silent  about  his  personal 
anguish,  there  is  that  in  his  mild  aspect  which 
tells  each  who  meets  it,  If  his  grief  be  great, 
his  love  is  greater.  And  whilst  Solomon  is 
so  king-like  that  he  does  not  ask  you  to  be  his 
friend,  the  Saviour  is  so  God-like  that  he  so- 
licits your  affection,  and  so  brotherly  that  he 
wins  it.  Indeed,  here  is  the  mystery  of  godli- 
ness— God  manifest  in  flesh,  that  flesh  may  see 
how  God  is  love ;  and  that  through  the  love- 
liness of  Jesus  we  may  be  attracted  and  en- 
tranced into  the  love  of  God.  O  melancholy 
monarch !  how  funereal  is  thy  tread,  as  thou 
pacest  up  and  down  thy  echoing  galleries,  and 
disappearest  in  the  valley  of  Death-shadow, 
ever  sounding — Vanity  of  vanities  !  0  Teach- 
er blessed !  how  beautiful  are  thy  feet  on  the 
mountains,  publishing  peace!  How  benign 
thy  outstretched  hand,  which,  to  the  sinner 
weeping  over  it,  proves  God's  golden  sceptre 
of  forgiveness,  and  which  then  clasps  that 
sinner's  hand  and  guides  him  to  glory!  O 
Thou  greater  than  Solomon  !  "let  me  see  thy 


A  GREATER  THAN  SOLOMON.  55 

countenance,  let  me  hear  thy  voice ;  for  sweet 
is  thy  voice,  and  thy  countenance  is  comely." 
A  greater  than  Solomon.  The  cedar  palace 
has  long  since  yielded  to  the  torch  of  the 
spoiler ;  but  the  home  which  Jesus  has  pre- 
pared for  his  disciples  is  a  house  not  made 
with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.  Thorns 
and  thistles  choke  the  garden  of  Engedi,  and 
the  moon  is  no  longer  mirrored  in  the  fish- 
ponds of  Heshbon;  but  no  brier  grows  in 
the  paradise  above,  and  nothing  will  ever 
choke  or  narrow  that  fountain  whence  life 
leaps  in  fulness,  or  stagnate  that  still  expanse 
where  the  Good  Shepherd  leads  his  flock  at 
glory 's  noon.  And  Solomon — the  wonder  of 
the  world — his  grave  is  with  us  at  this  day ; 
his  flesh  has  seen  corruption ;  and  he,  too, 
must  hear  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  Man,  and 
come  forth  to  the  great  account:  but  Jesus 
saw  no  corruption.  Him  hath  God  raised  up, 
and  made  a  Prince  and  a  Saviour ;  and  hath 
given  him  authority  to  execute  judgment,  be- 
cause He  is  the  Son  of  Man.  And,  reverting 
to  the  allusion  of  our  outset :  Solomon  .efflor- 


56  LECTURE   III. 


esced  from  his  country's  golden  age  ;  a  greater 
than  Solomon  appeared  when  miry  clay  was 
mixing  with  its  age  of  iron.  Solomon  was, 
so  to  speak,  an  effusion  of  his  age,  as  well  as 
its  brightest  ornament :  the  Son  of  Mary  was 
an  advent  and  an  alien — a  star  come  down  to 
sojourn  in  a  cavern — a  root  of  Deity  from  our 
earth's  dry  ground.  But  though  it  was  the 
Hebrew  winter  when  he  came,  he  did  not  fail 
nor  wax  discouraged.  He  taught,  he  lived, 
he  fulfilled  all  righteousness — he  loved,  he 
died.  It  was  winter  wheat :  but  the  corn  fell 
into  the  ground  ungrudgingly ;  for  as  he  sowed 
his  seeds  of  truth,  the  Saviour  knew  that  he 
was  sowing  the  summer  of  our  world.  And, 
as,  one  by  one,  these  seeds  spring  up,  they 
fetch  with  them  a  glow  more  genial ;  for  every 
saved  soul  is  not  only  something  for  God's 
garner;  but  an  influence  for  mankind.  Al- 
ready of  that  handful  of  corn  which  this  great- 
er Solomon  scattered  on  the  mountain-tops  of 
Galilee,  the  first-fruits  are  springing;  and  by- 
and-by  the  fruit  shall  shake  like  Lebanon,  and 
the  Church's  citizens  shall  be  abundant  as 


A  GREATER  THAN  SOLOMON.  57 


grass  of  the  earth.  On  the  wings  of  prophecy 
it  is  hastening  towards  ns ;  and  every  prayer 
and  every  mission  speeds  it  on — our  world's 
latter  summer-burst,  our  earth's  perennial 
June — when  the  name  of  Jesus  shall  endure 
forever,  and  be  continued  as  long  as  the  sun  : 
when  men  shall  be  blessed  in  Him,  and  all  na- 
tions shall  call  him  blessed. 

So  great  is  this  Prince  of  prophets,  that  the 
least  in  his  kingdom  is  greater  than  Solomon. 
The  saint  is  greater  than  the  sage,  and  dis- 
cipleship  to  Jesus  is  the  pinnacle  of  human  dig- 
nity. In  Him  are  hid  all  the  treasures  of  wis- 
dom, and  all  the  germs  of  undeveloped  good- 
ness. He  is  the  true  theology,  the  perfect  ethics, 
the  supreme  philosophy  ;  and  no  words  can  lim- 
it the  mental  ascendency  and  moral  beauty  to 
which  that  young  man  may  aspire,  who,  in  all 
the  susceptibility  of  an  adoring  affection,  conse- 
crates himself  to  the  service  and  society  of  the 
Son  of  God.  My  brothers!  is  it  a  presump- 
tuous hope  that,  even  whilst  I  speak,  some  of 
you  feel  stirring  within  you  the  desire  to  join 
yourselves  to  blessedness  by  joining  yourselves 


58  LECTURE   III. 


to  Jesus  ?  Is  it  too  much,  to  hope  that  some 
of  you,  who  are  Christian  young  men  already, 
are  wishing  and  praying  that  God  would  make 
your  characters  less  commonplace,  and  render 
your  influences  in  your  day  more  abundant  and 
benign?  Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that,  even 
from  this  rapid  survey,  some  shall  retire  with 
a  happy  consciousness, — Blessed  be  God!  I 
belong  to  a  kingdom  which  cannot  be  moved, 
and  am  embarked  in  a  cause  which  cannot  be 
defeated  ?  Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  some 
one  who  has  found,  in  regard  to  godless  enjoy- 
ment, "All  is  vanity,"  may  now  be  led  to  ex- 
claim, with  the  gifted  youth  to  whom  our  poet- 
laureate  has  inscribed  "  In  Memoriam,"  "  Lord, 
I  have  viewed  this  world  over,  in  which  thou 
hast  set  me ;  I  have  tried  how  this  and  that 
thing  will  fit  my  spirit,  and  the  design  of  my 
creation,  and  can  find  nothing  on  which  to 
rest,  for  nothing  here  doth  itself  rest ;  but  such 
things  as  please  me  for  a  while  in  some  degree, 
vanish  and  flee  as  shadows  from  before  me. 
Lo  1  I  come  to  thee — the  Eternal  Being — the 
Spring  of  Life — the  Centre  of  Eest — the  Stay 


A  GREATER  THAN  SOLOMON.  59 

of  the  Creation — the  Fulness  of  all  things.  I 
join  myself  to  Thee ;  with  Thee  I  will  lead  my 
life  and  spend  my  days,  with  whom  I  am  to 
dwell  forever,  expecting,  when  my  little  time 
is  over,  to  be  taken  up  into  thine  own  eter- 
nity."* 

*  From  a  deeply  interesting  account  of  Arthur  H.  Hallara, 
in  the  "  North  British  Review,"  for  February,  1851. 


LECTUEE  IV. 

nf 


READ  ECCLES.  i.  2-11. 

"  Vanity  of  vanities,  saith  the  Preacher,  vanity  of  vanities  • 
all  is  vanity." 


ECCLESIASTES  is  Solomon  the  Prodigal,  re- 
exhibited  by  Solomon  the  Preacher.  The 
wisest  of  worldlings  here  opens  a  window  in 
his  bosom  and  shows  us  all  those  fluctuating 
emotions  and  conflicting  passions  which  whirl 
and  eddy  in  every  heart  whose  currents  run 
opposite  ways. 

In  this  separate  enclosure,  so  unlike  the  sur- 
rounding Scripture ;  such  a  contrast  to  the  joy- 
ous parterre  which  blossoms  beside  it,*  the 
traveller  has  planted  the  wormwood  and  the 
rue,  all  the  bitter  herbs  and  the  lurid  which  he 

*  The  Song  of  Solomon. 


THE   VESTIBULE   OF  VANITY.  61 

gathered  in  his  grand  tour  of  vanity ;  and  he 
has  left  them,  at  once,  a  memorial  and  a  medi- 
cine— a  record  of  his  own  painful  experiences, 
and  a  corrective  to  curious  speculation  and 
sensual  indulgence. 

The  right  way  to  understand  Ecclesiastes  is 
to  read  it  alongside  of  the  other  Scriptures. 
Obscure  in  itself  we  must  take  the  daylight  at 
the  end  as  a  lamp,  to  guide  us  as  we  go  ;  and, 
for  its  duskier  recesses,  we  may  borrow  the 
bright  lantern  of  prophets  and  evangelists. 
We  shall  thus  not  only  find  its  perusal  safe 
and  profitable,  but,  as  its  dark  sayings  flash 
into  significance,  and  its  negations  are  filled 
up  by  counterpart  verities,  in  its  very  stern- 
ness we  shall  recognize  another  feature  of  Kev- 
elation ;s  symmetry.  ^Solomon  will  tell  us  the 
vanity  of  doubt;  the  rest  of  the  Bible  will  tell 
us  the  blessedness  of  a  firm  belief.  Solomon 
will  tell  us  the  misery  of  the  selfist,  who  seeks 
to  be  his  own  all  in  all ;  the  evangelists  will 
tell  us  the  blessedness  of  a  true  benevolence. 
Solomon  will  tell  us  the  vanity  of  the  creature ; 
the  rest  of  the  Bible  reveals  the  sufficiency  of 


62  LECTURE  IV. 


the  great  Creator.  Solomon  will  tell  us  how 
he  amassed  unprecedented  riches,  but  found 
no  comfort  in  them :  his  shepherd  sire  will 
answer  by  anticipation,  "  My  cup  runneth 
over.  Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow 
me  all  the  days  of  my  life  ;  and  I  shall  dwell 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord  forever."  Solomon 
will  tell  us  how,  in  a  palace  and  a  crown,  and 
in  imperial  fame,  he  found  nothing  but  cha- 
grin :  Jesus  will  answer,  "  In  the  world  ye 
shall  have  tribulation ;  but  in  me  ye  shall 
have  peace."  Solomon  the  sage  will  tell  us, 
"  Vanity  of  vanities  ;  all  is  vanity."  Solomon 
the  saint  will  answer,  "  0  Saviour,  thy  love  is 
better  than  wine.  Draw  me,  and  I  will  run 
after  thee.  Tarry  with  me  until  the  day  break 
and  the  shadows  flee  away." 

This  passage  is  the  preamble  to  the  book. 
And  it  is  an  appropriate  preface.  Like  senti- 
nels of  cypress,  cold  and  glaucous,  at  a  winter- 
garden's  gate,  like  sphinxes  of  solemn  stone 
flanking  the  entrance  of  the  Silent  Land,  this 
prologue  is  a  fit  introduction  to  the  mournful 


THE  VESTIBULE  OF  VANITY.  63 

story  we  are  about  to  read,  and  ushers  us  at 
once  into  its  realms  of  dreariness. 

As  much  as  if  he  said,  "It  is  all  aweary  go- 
round.  This  system  of  things  is  a  perpetual 
self-repetition, — quite  sickening.  One  genera- 
tion goes,  another  comes.  The  sun  rises,  and 
the  sun  goes  down.  That  was  what  the  sun  did 
yesterday,  and  what  I  expect  it  will  do  to- 
morrow. The  wind  blows  north,  and  the  wind 
blows  south  ;  and  this  is  all  it  has  been  doing 
for  these  thousand  years.  The  rivers  run  into 
the  sea,  and  it  would  be  some  relief  to  find  that 
sea  up-filling ;  to  perceive  the  clear  waters 
wetting  the  dry  shingle,  and  brimming  up  to 
the  green  fields,  and  floating  the  boats  and 
fishes  up  into  the  forest :  but  even  that  incon- 
venient novelty  is  denied  us ;  for  though  the 
Nile  and  many  a  river  have  been  tumbling  a 
world  of  water  into  it,  this  tide  will  not  over- 
step its  margin  ;  the  flood  still  bulges,  but  still 
refuses  to  cross  its  bounds.  Words*. them- 
selves are  weariness,  and  it  would  tire  you  to 
enumerate  those  everlasting  mutations  and 

^,  so  rendered  by  Knobel  and  others. 


64  LECTUKE  IV. 


busy  uniformities  which,  make  up  this  endless 
screw  of  existence.  There  are  no  novelties,  no 
wonders,  no  discoveries.  This  universe  does 
not  yield  an  eye-full,  an  ear-full,  to  its  occu- 
pant. The  present  only  repeats  the  past,  the 
future  will  repeat  them  both.  The  inventions 
of  to-day  are  the  forgotten  arts  of  yesterday, 
and  our  children  will  forget  our  wisdom,  only 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  fishing  up,  as  new 
prodigies,  our  obsolete  truisms.  There  is  no 
new  thing  under  the  sun,  yet  no  repose.  Per- 
petual functions  and  transient  objects, — per- 
manent combinations,  yet  shifting  atoms,  same- 
ness, yet  incessant  change,  make  up  the  mo- 
notonous medley.  Woe's  me  for  this  weary 
world  I" 

In  such  feelings  I  think  it  possible  that  a 
few  of  my  hearers  may  sympathize.  To  you  it 
is  very  painful — this  fugacity  of  time — this 
flight  of  years  and  ages — this  coming  and  going 
of  the  generations.  And  to  you  it  is  very  op- 
pressive— this  monotony  of  life — this  constant 
recurrence  of  the  same  small  pleasures — and 
this  total  absence  of  any  magnificent  enjoy- 


THE  VESTIBULE   OF  VANITY.  65 

ment.  You  both  want  something  of  which 
you  may  say,  "See,  this  is  new,7'  and  some- 
thing of  which  you  may  feel,  "  Now  this  is 
good — this  is  noble  :  here  is  something  which 
will  never  pass  away  :  a  joy  that  will  be  my 
comrade  through  eternity — for  neither  it  nor 
I  shall  ever  die."  From  such  vexing  thoughts 
might  you  not  escape  by  taking  refuge  in  one 
permanence  and  one  variety  to  which  the  royal 
Preacher  does  not  here  advert  ?  I  mean  the 
soul's  immortality,  and  the  renewed  soul's  per- 
petual juvenescence ;  that  attribute  of  mind 
which  makes  it  the  survivor  of  all  changes, 
and  that  faculty  of  regenerate  humanity  which 
renders  old  things  new,  and  suffuses  with  per- 
petual freshness  things  the  most  familiar. 

It  is  true  that,  compared  with  many  visible 
objects,  man  is  ephemeral.  Compared  with  the 
sun  that  shines  over  him — the  air  which  fans 
him — the  ocean  on  which  he  floats,  his  "  dura- 
tion is  a  swift  decay."  And  there  is  much 
pensiveness  in  the  thought  of  his  own  frailty. 
To  look  out,  as  we  were  last  week  looking,  on 
the  plenitude  of  summer, — to  view  the  exu- 
5 


66  LECTUEE   IV. 


berance  of  verdure  in  the  woods,  and  the  soft 
warmth  upon  the  waters — to  inhale  the  fra- 
grance of  roses,  mingling  with  earth's  ripeness, 
and  think  how  soon  our  eyes  must  shut  forever 
on  that  landscape — how  soon  aromatic  breezes 
and  blushing  flowers  shall  stir  no  animation  in 
our  tombs, — to  think  that  there  will  be  as  much 
of  ecstasy  in  the  season,  but  in  that  ecstasy  we 
shall  be  no  sharers ;  or,  as  the  poet  has  ex- 
pressed it  in  his  "  Farewell  to  the  Brook," — 

Flow  down,  cold  rivulet,  to  the  sea, 

Thy  tribute  wave  deliver  ; 
No  more  by  thee,  my  steps  shall  be, 

Forever,  and  forever. 

But  here  will  sigh  thine  alder-tree, 

And  here  thine  aspen  shiver  ; 
And  here  by  thee,  will  hum  the  bee, 

Forever,  and  forever. 

A  thousand  suns  will  stream  on  thee, 
A  thousand  moons  will  quiver  ; 

But  not  by  thee,  my  steps  shall  be, 
Forever,  and  forever.* 

In  such  contemplations  there  is  a  deep  pathos, 

and  to  surrender  the  spirit  to  their  habitual 

*  Tennyson. 


THE   VESTIBULE   OF  VANITY.  67 

mastery  would  be  to  live  a  life  of  constant 
melancholy. 

But,  whatever  may  be  the  sensations  of 
worldlings,  these  ought  not  to  be  the  feelings 
of  Christians.  Jesus  Christ  hath  brought  im- 
mortality to  light  through  the  Gospel.  He  has 
taught  us  that  amidst  all  sublunary  perpetuities, 
the  most  perpetual  is  the  soul  of  man.  He 
has  assured  us  that  the  man  who  believes  in 
Himself  shall  never  die,  and  that  of  all  things 
which  ever  tenanted  this  planet,  the  most  en- 
during are  Himself  and  those  whom  faith  and 
affection  make  one  with  Himself:  the  great 
Alpha  and  Omega,  and  all  the  redeemed  ex- 
istence included  in  his  own. 

But  more  than  that,  have  you  thought,  my 
friends,  on  the  immortalizing  faculty  of  your 
own  immortal  minds  ?  The  soul  of  man  is  not 
only  earth's  true  amaranth,  but  earth's  only 
antiseptic.  It  is  only  in  that  soul  that  this 
visible  creation  will  by-and-by  exist  at  all.  It 
is  only  in  your  deathless  memory  that  its  fair 
scenes  and  curious  objects  will,  ere  long,  sur- 
vive ;  but  there  they  can  never  die.  Already 


68  LECTURE  IT. 


the  face  of  things  has  entirely  changed  since 
the  days  of  Solomon.  No  limner  has  preserved 
the  aspect  of  Palestine  as  his  poetic  father 
viewed  it.  But  there  are  memories  in  which 
it  lives.  The  well  of  Bethlehem — its  streets, 
its  houses,  and  its  stables,  as  they  stood  a  thou- 
sand years  before  the  Saviour  of  the  world  was 
born  in  one  of  them;  the  copse  where  the 
young  shepherd  cut  his  crook,  and  the  bazaar 
where  he  bought  his  harp ;  the  slopes  tufted 
with  hyssop  and  elastic  with  thyme,  where  his 
broad-tailed  flocks  cropped  the  herbage,  and 
the  trees  where  they  rested  at  noon  ;  the  mus- 
ter of  the  Philistines  on  one  side  of  the  torrent, 
and  Israel's  tents  on  the  other — all  these  have 
vanished  from  under  the  sun,  but  all  these  are 
still  vivid  in  the  spectator's  strengthened 
memory.  And  there,  too,  are  still  depicted  por- 
traits which  the  artists  of  earth  can  only  im- 
agine ; — Jesse's  manly  port  as,  with  yeoman 
pride,  he  stalked  out  and  in  among  his  thriving 
herds  and  soldier  sons, — Samuel's  reverend 
visage  as  he  poured  the  anointing  oil, — Go- 
liath's mighty  bulk  as  he  fell  over  on  the 


THE   VESTIBULE   OF  VANITY.  69 

quaking  turf, — Jonathan's  tearful  smile  as  he 
bade  farewell  for  that  fatal  Gilboa.  And  even 
so,  if  you  be  the  children  of  God,  this  earth  is 
your  unfading  heritage.  Its  best  things  will 
subsist  as  long  as  you  care  to  preserve  them. 
And,  even  after  that  earth  and  all  its  works, 
all  its  present  features  and  all  its  present  pro- 
ductions have  disappeared,  there  will  be  as 
many  records  of  creation  as  there  are  holy 
recollections  in  heaven.  When  the  aspen  and 
the  alder,  when  the  bee  in  the  fox-glove,  and 
the  roses  round  the  bower,  are  extinct  species, 
or  are  only  enshrined  in  the  amber  of  celestial 
reminiscence ;  you  will  still  remember  what 
like  earth's  sanctuaries  looked,  and  how  its 
summers  shone.  Or  should  even  sun  and 
moon  grow  pale,  their  image  will  endure  so 
long  as  you  remember  the  happy  hour  when 
you  gave  yourself  to  God :  so  long  as  you  re- 
member the  mossy  bank  where  first,  in  the 
Saviour's  invitations,  you  read  your  title  to  a 
mansion  in  the  skies :  so  long  as  you  remem- 
ber the  bright  winter-night  returning  from  the 
country  communion,  when  the  peace  of  God 


70  LECTURE   IV. 


was  a  full  tide  in  your  bosom,  and  in  the 
melting  admiration  of  redeeming  love,  you 
looked  up  into  the  heavens  and  said,  "  What 
is  man,  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?"  Ah ! 
yes  ;  the  immortality  of  material  forms  is  the 
immortality  of  the  soul  of  man. 

And  of  these  material  forms  it  is  the  highest 
function, — so  to  speak,  it  is  their  greatest  priv- 
ilege, to  tell  on  man's  immortality  ; — to  get  so 
blended  with  man's  being  as  to  survive  the 
wreck  of  matter,  and  share  that  existence 
which  alone  is  undissolving.  And  though  this 
suggests  some  painful  thoughts,  though  it  is 
sad  to  think  how  objects  of  cupidity  and  ava- 
rice, and  how  the  incentives  to  unholy  passion 
may  survive  only  in  that  self-accusing  con- 
science which  they  helped  to  make  a  child  of 
hell,  boasting  no  monument  beyond  such  mis- 
creant memory :  still  there  is  a  fitness,  and 
one  feels  happy  in  the  thought  that  God's  good 
works  shall  be  eternally  embalmed  in  those 
immortal  natures  which  they  have  helped  to 
make  good  and  beautiful,  and  shall  never  die 
so  long  as  those  spirits'  live  to  whose  growth  in 


THE  VESTIBULE   OF  VANITY.  71 

grace  they  once  gave  aliment.  Generations 
will  cease  to  come  and  go.  The  earth  in  its 
present  arrangements,  will  not  "  abide  forever." 
It  will  soon  be  burned  up,  along  with  all  its 
works.  Its  present  races  will  be  annihilated, 
or  only  recognized  as  dim  fossils  in  the  cal- 
cined strata ;  and  the  very  books  which  have 
been  engraven  and  painted  to  represent  their 
forms,  shall  perish  in  the  mighty  conflagration. 
But  even  then  there  will  be  tablets  of  Nature 
numerous  as  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  per- 
fect ;  and  what  museums  have  failed  to  keep 
will  be  still  secure  in  the  fire-proof  cabinets  of 
saintly  recollection.  No  eagle  will  then  poise 
in  the  vacant  firmament,  but  its  restful  gyra- 
tions, its  sunward  aspiring,  will  still  be  present 
to  that  mind  which  used  to  associate  with  it 
the  self-renovating  efforts  of  prayer :  "  They 
that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  renew  their 
strength:  they  shall  mount  up  on  wings  as 
eagles."  And  from  another  planet  the  pilgrim 
coming  would  vainly  search  for  Syria's  far- 
famed  lily :  but  its  image  still  wlil  linger 
both  in  the  memory  and  the  character  of  that 


72  LECTURE   IV. 


modest  disciple  to  whom  Jesus  said  not  in  vain, 
"  Consider  the  lilies,  and  be  clothed  like  them.7 
There  will  then  be  no  Jacob's  well ;  but  its 
deep  shaft  and  shady  canopy  will  still  be  pic- 
tured in  her  memory,  who,  one  summer  after- 
noon, found  resting  there  a  stranger,  and  ob- 
tained from  him  water  of  everlasting  life.  And 
there  will  be  no  Patmos  then,  but  its  creeks 
and  caverns  will  all  be  mapped  in  his  affec- 
tionate fancy,  who  found  it  the  open  gate  of 
the  New  Jerusalem ;  and  who  will  recall  the 
lizards  on  its  cliffs  and  the  little  fishes  in  its 
pools,  with  Apocalyptic  light  and  Sabbath  joy 
around  them. 

There  is  another  sense  in  which  these  mate- 
rial agencies  are  working  a  moral  progress, 
and  so  promoting  the  scheme  of  God.  Look- 
ing up  at  the  weather-cock,  says  the  sage  of 
vanity,  "  Woe's  me  for  this  weary  wind ! 
There,  it  was  south  this  morning,  and  now  it 
is  north  !  How  many  ways  it  blows,  and  nev- 
er long  the  same !  What's  the  use  of  all  this 
whirling  ?  And  if  it  were  only  to  make  the 
vane  spin  round,  the  air  as  well  might  stag- 


THE  VESTIBULE   OF  VANITY.  73 

nate  :  there  were  no  need  of  such  wasted  pow- 
er. But  whilst  the  valetudinarian  is  looking 
at  the  vane,  the  wind  is  careering  over  a  con- 
tinent, and  doing  the  Creator's  work  in  a  hun- 
dred lands.  It  has  called  at  yon  city,  fetid 
with  miasrna  and  groaning  with  pestilence ; 
and,  with  its  besom  of  brisk  pinions,  it  has 
swept  the  plague  away.  It  has  looked  into 
yon  haven,  and  found  a  forest  of  laden  ships 
sleeping  over  their  freights,  and  it  has  chased 
them  all  to  sea.  And  finding  the  harvest  ar- 
rested in  a  broad  and  fertile  realm — the  earth 
chapped,  and  the  crops  withering, — it  is  now 
hurrying  with  that  black  armament  of  clouds 
to  drench  it  in  lifesome  irrigation.  To  narrow 
observation  or  to  selfishness  that  wind  is  an 
annoyance :  to  faith  it  is  God's  angel,  *  for- 
warding 'the  mighty  plan.  'Tis  a  boisterous 
night,  and  Pictish  savages  curse  the  noisy  blast 
which  shakes  their  peat-hovels  round  their 
ears ;  but  that  noisy  blast  has  landed  the  Gos- 
pel on  St.  Andrew's  shore.  It  blows  a  fearful 
tempest,  and  it  sets  some  rheumatic  joints  on 

*  Ps.  civ.  3,  4. 


74  LECTURE   VI. 


aching ;  but  the  morrow  shows  dashed  in  pieces 
the  awful  Armada  which  was  fetching  the 
Spanish  Inquisition  to  our  British  Isle.  The 
wind  blows  east,  and  detains  James's  ships  at 
Harwich ;  but  it  guides  King  William  to  Tor- 
bay.  Yes,  "the  wind  blows  south  and  the 
wind  blows  north ;  it  whirleth  about  continual- 
ly, and  returneth  again  according  to  its  cir- 
cuits." But  in  the  course  of  these  circuits  the 
wind  has  blown  to  our  little  speck  of  sea-girt 
Happiness,  the  Gospel,  and  Protestantism,  and 
civil  and  religious  liberty.  And  so,  not  of  our 
islet  only,  but  of  our  globe  entire,  and  its  con- 
tinuous population.  So  far  as  the  individual 
is  concerned,  so  far  as  it  affects  the  weather- 
index  in  the  wind,  there  may  be  little  seeming 
progress ;  nay,  so  far  as  it  concerns  any  plan 
which  society  proposes  to  itself,  the '  favoring 
gale  may  shift  and  shift  again,  and  the  story 
of  a  nation  be  little  better  than  the  register  of 
a  stationary  yane  pirouetting  on  its  windy  piv- 
ot ;  but  so  far  as  affects  the  scheme  of  God, 
there  is  an  aura  in  the  universe  which  always 
drives  one  way.  Predestination  is  a  vane 


THE  VESTIBULE   OP  VANITY.  75 

which  never  vibrates,  and  Providence  a  wind 
which  never  whirls  about.  The  breath  of 
God's  Spirit  and  the  strength  of  God's  purpose 
are  steadily  wafting  our  world  and  all  the 
worlds  in  one  mighty  convoy  towards  God's 
appointed  haven  in  the  distant  future.  So 
cheer  up,  Solomon,  and  all  ye  sighing  sages ; 
cheer  up,  you  that  complain  of  the  sameness 
and  insipidity  of  mundane  affairs.  Cheer  up, 
you  that  pine  for  some  grand  disclosure,  and 
long  for  something  that  will  fill  your  eye  and 
satisfy  your  ear.  When  in  the  harbor  of  God's 
finished  mystery,  the  sails  of  history  are  furled, 
and  the  eternal  anchor  is  dropped — when  the 
last  generation  falls  in  and  the  last  holy  intel- 
ligence comes  home,  you  who  have  so  often 
asked,  Is  there  anything  whereof  it  may  be 
said,  See,  this  is  new  ?  you  will  see  "  all  things 
made  new;'7  you,  whose  eye  has  never  been 
satisfied  with  seeing,  will  be  satisfied  when 
you  see  Him  a.s  He  is ;  and  you,  whose  ear  was 
never  satisfied  with  hearing,  will  long  for  noth- 
ing fuller  when  responsive  to  the  overture 
which  morning-stars  sang  so  long  ago,  the 


76  LECTURE  IV. 


grand  finale  shall  burst  from  Infinitude  ex- 
claiming, "  Blessing,  and  honor,  and  glory,  and 
power,  be  unto  Him  that  sitteth  upon  the 
throne,  and  to  the  Lamb,  forever  and  ever." 

If,  as  we  have  said,  the  immortality  of  ma- 
terial forms  is  only  that  which  they  achieve 
through  the  immortality  of  the  human  soul ; 
and  if  the  true  glorification  of  matter  is  its 
sanctifying  influence  on  regenerate  mind,  we 
may  learn  two  lessons  from  our  argument : 

F^rst,  that  there  is  no  harm  in  a  vivid  sus- 
ceptibility of  those  material  appearances  and 
influences  with  which  God  has  replenished  the 
universe.  Some  religionists  would  make  con- 
tempt of  the  creation  a  test  of  piety  ;  but  they 
greatly  err.  It  was  of  the  material  universe 
that  six  times  over  God  said  that  it  was 
"  good."  And  it  was  in  that  material  universe 
that  the  Son  of  God  Incarnate  evidently  sought 
refreshment  for  his  eyes  when  weary  with 
viewing  vanity.  Yes,  Jesus  himself  has  taken 
to  heaven  some  of  its  relics  of  Eden : 


THE   VESTIBULE   OF   VANITY.  77 

'*  Ob,  Saviour,  gone  to  God's  right  hand, 

Yet  the  same  Saviour  still ; 
Graved  on  Thy  heart  is  this  lovely  strand 
And  every  fragrant  hill."* 

Secondly.  But  that  susceptibility  is  good 
for  nothing  if  it  be  not  sanctified.  There  is 
an  idolatry  of  nature.  There  are  some  whose 
God  is  the  visible  creation,  and  not  the  God 
and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  And 
there  is  a  voluptuousness  in  the  enjoyment  of 
nature.  There  are  some  to  whom  the  land- 
scape and  its  ingredients  are  neither  the  recre- 
ation fitting  them  for  more  active  duties,  nor 
the  ladder  of  easy  steps  leading  them  up  to 
adoring  and  loving  thoughts  of  God;  but, 
like  the  epicure  over  his  viands,  they  sit  down 
to  the  banquet  as  if  they  cared  for  no  higher 
paradise.  At  this  moment,  when  so  many  are 
panting  for  a  purer  air,  and  preparing  to  mi- 
grate to  other  scenes  in  search  of  it,  it  may  be 
a  word  in  season.  Go,  you  that  have  worked 
hard  for  it — go  and  enjoy  your  holiday.  But 
whithersoever  you  go,  let  all  your  religion  go 

*  M'Cheyne's  "  Sea  of  Galilee." 


78  LECTURE  IV. 


•with  you.  If  you  go  among  foreigners,  in- 
stead of  gruffness  and  hauteur,  take  with  you 
Christian  complaisance,  and  do  justice  at  once 
to  the  good  feeling  of  England  and  the  courte- 
sy of  real  religion.  And  whether  among  com- 
patriots or  foreigners,  take  with  you  the  Sab- 
bath-day. Keep  its  hours  as  sacred  in  the 
hired  lodging  or  the  inn,  as  you  keep  them  in 
your  own  well-ordered  home.  Pray  for  the 
places  where  you  sojourn,  and  as  seeds  for  the 
eternal  harvest,  it  were  well  if  you  could  drop 
some  good  words  or  arresting  tracts  as  you 
pass  along.  And  then,  when  bursts  of  beauty 
or  surprises  of  grandeur  come  in  upon  your 
soul,  let  the  thought  also  come  in  of  your 
"Father,"  who  "made  them  all."  And  thus 
associated  with  the  profitable  books  you  read, 
or  the  Christian  intercourse  you  enjoyed,  or 
the  efforts  at  usefulness  you  there  put  forth, — 
places  which  to  the  vacant  mind  recall  no 
memories,  and  to  the  profligate  are  only  iden- 
tified with  dissipation  and  riot, — will  to  you 
be  fraught  with  pleasant  recollections;  and, 


THE  VESTIBULE   OF  VANITY.  79 

thus  beautified  and  sanctified,  the  resorts  and 
recreations  of  earth  will  be  worthy  of  a  mental 
pilgrimage  even  from  the  bowers  of  Paradise 
Restored. 


LECTUKE   V. 


READ  ECCLES.  i.  12-18. 

*  In  much  wisdom  is  much  grief  ;  and  he  that  increaseth 
knowledge  increaseth  sorrow." 

SOLOMON'S  first  recourse  was  philosophy. 
He  was  a  king,  and  he  could  pursue  his  re- 
searches on  a  splendid  scale.  We  know  that 
he  collected  natural  curiosities  from  distant 
countries,  and  it  is  likely  that  he  attracted  to 
his  court  the  learned  of  many  lands.  Nor  is 
it  improbable  that  he  attained  an  insight  to 
natural  phenomena,  possessed  by  none  of  his 
contemporaries.  To  the  present  day  Eastern 
magicians  invoke  his  name  as  if  he  were  a 
controller  of  the  elements;  a  circumstance 
from  which  some  have  very  gratuitously  infer- 
red that  he  must  have  been  a  magician  him- 


THE  MUSEUM.  81 


self.  But  the  fact  is  interesting.  It  looks  as 
if  tradition  still  preserved  a  recollection  of  cer- 
tain prodigies  which  science  enabled  him  to 
perform,  and  it  would  suggest  that  he  was  an 
experimenter  as  well  as  an  observer. 

But  it  was  not  only  apes  and  peacocks, 
cedars  and  hyssop,  which  he  studied,  and  the 
elements  on  which  he  experimented;  he 
studied  man.  He  looked  at  man's  position  in 
this  world.  He  examined  his  story  in  time 
past.  "  He  sought  and  searched  out  by  wis- 
dom concerning  all  things  that  are  done  under 
heaven  ;"  "  he  saw  all  the  works  that  are  done 
under  the  sun."  And  he  did  not  confine  him- 
self to  grave  generalities ;  he  did  not  read  sole- 
ly the  stately  history  of  kings.  "  He  gave  his 
heart  to  know  madness  and  folly,77  as  well  as 
"wisdom;"  nor  was  he  so  pedantic  as  not  to 
gather  instruction  from  the  frivolous  and  fan- 
tastic as  well  as  from  the  august  in  human  na- 
ture. His  appetite  for  knowledge  was  omniv- 
orous, and  whilst  hungering  for  the  harvest  he 
was  thankful  for  crumbs. 

The  result  was,  satiety  without  satisfaction ; 


82  LECTURE  V. 


or  rather,  it  was  the  sober  certainty  of  "  sor- 
row." "All  the  works  done  under  the  sun 
are  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.'7  Look  at 
this  Mesech  of  mortality!  What  a  hot  and 
noisy  hive  it  is,  and  how  each  insect  hums  out 
and  in  on  his  consequential  errands,  till  some 
night  Death,  the  grim  owner,  comes  and  stifles 
all,  and  takes  the  honey.  "  I  have  seen  all  the 
works  done  under  the  sun  ;"  I  know  their  ob- 
ject, I  know  their  result.  It  is  comfort,  soul- 
content  for  which  the  millions  moil  and  bustle. 
For  this  the  clodpole  delves  in  the  stiff  clay, 
and  the  pearl-fisher  dives  in  the  deep  lagoon. 
From  his  fragrant  woods  the  herbalist  of  Gil- 
ead  would  fain  distil  it,  and  from  his  royal 
dainties  the  Asherite  strives,  to  confect  it. 
With  its  rich  cargoes  the  ships  of  Tarshish  and 
the  dromedaries  of  Midian  have  many  a  time 
been  laden ;  but  when  the  time  came  to  open 
the  bales,  nothing  was  found  save  ocean-brine 
or  desert  sand.  All  was  transmuted  into  van- 
ity and  vexation  of  spirit.  "  This  sore  travail 
hath  God  given  to  the  sons  of  men."  The 
very  pursuit  of  knowledge  is  penal.  The 


THE   MUSEUM.  83 


search  after  happiness  is  itself  a  sore  punish- 
ment. Here,  like  a  gin-horse,  has  the  world 
been  for  ages  tramping  round  and  round,  hop- 
ing to  fetch  up  the  golden  bucket  from  the 
deep  shaft  of  thought  and  effort ;  but  alas ! 
sin  has  cut  the  rope,  and  there  is  now  no  gold- 
en bucket  at  the  end.  Still,  however,  the  blind 
gin-horse  limps  and  wheezes  on,  and  jades 
himself  to  death  with  this  sore  travail.  I  see 
the  misery ;  I  see  not  how  to  mend  it.  "  That 
which  is  crooked  cannot  be  made  straight." 
There  is  a  twist  in  man's  destiny,  a  bias  in 
man's  will,  a  crook  in  man's  constitution  which 
science  cannot  rectify.  "  And  that  which  is 
wanting  cannot  be  numbered." 

I  have  a  list  of  those  ingredients  which  con- 
stitute well-being,  and  which  I  am  told  that 
man  once  possessed,  e.  g.,  peace  of  conscience, 
elasticity  of  temper,  health,  contentment,  ex- 
emption from  death,  faith  in  the  future ;  and 
I  have  made  a  survey  of  humanity  and  come 
back  with  an  inventory  of  mere  desiderata. 
These  joys  have  vanished.  The  spoiler  has 
been  here.  The  regalia  are  rifled,  and  the 


84  LECTURE  V. 


onyx  of  Havilah  lias  been  torn  from  the  crown 
which  Adam  wore  in  Paradise.  And  as  the 
upshot  of  all  I  say,  "  Much  wisdom  is  much 
grief,  and  he  that  increaseth  knowledge  in- 
creaseth  sorrow."  Happier  that  beggar  child 
who  can  fancy  his  reed  a  sceptre,  than  that 
gray-haired  monarch  who  knows  that  a  sceptre 
is  only  gilded  copper.  Happier  the  fisher  boy 
who,  with  his  kettle,  hopes  to  bail  the  sinking 
boat,  than  his  wiser  father  who,  through  the 
widening  leak,  already  sees  their  watery  grave. 
Happier  the  peasant  who  fancies  the  magazine 
inexhaustible,  than  the  governor  who  knows 
that  it  will  be  all  consumed  months  before  the 
harvest.  In  a  world  like  this  much  science  is 
much  sorrow ;  for  it  is  the  knowledge  of  our 
penury, — the  statistics  of  starvation, — the  as- 
surance that  our  case  is  desperate.  Therefore, 
I  break  up  my  encyclopaedic  elysium,  and  on 
my  temple  of  art  inscribe,  "  Vanity  and  vexa- 
tion of  spirit:77 — 

"  Where  ignorance  is  bliss ; 
Tis  folly  to  be  wise."* 

*  As  Lord  Byron  has  expressed  it,  with  his  usual  mixture 


THE   MUSEUM.  85 


Unless  it  include  the  knowledge  of  the  Liv- 
ing God,  there  is  sorrow  in  much  science ;  that 
is,  the  more  a  man  knows,  unless  he  also  knows 
the  Saviour,  the  sadder  may  we  expect  him  to 
become.  Of  this  we  have  an  instance  in  a  late 
philosopher,  who,  like  Solomon,  united  to  ar- 
dor of  physical  research  a  thoughtful  and 
musing  spirit,  and  who  in  his  "Last  Days  of 
a  Philosopher,'7  has  bequeathed  to  the  world  a 
manual  of  mournful  "Consolations."  It  was 
not  from  any  drawback  in  his  outward  lot,  nor 
from  any  disappointment  of  his  hopes,  that 
Sir  Humphrey  Davy  took  leave  of  life  so 
gloomily.  Of  the  sons  of  science  few  have 
been  so  favored.  In  his  grand  discovery  of 
the  metallic  bases,  and  in  his  more  popular  in- 
vention of  the  safety-lamp ;  in  the  command 
of  a  laboratory  which  opened  a  royal  road  to 

of  force  and  flippancy  :  "  The  lapse  of  ages  changes  all 
things :  time,  language,  the  earth,  the  bounds  of  the  sea,  the 
stars  of  the  sky,  and  everything  *  about,  around,  and  under- 
neath' man,  except  man  himself,  who  has  always  been,  and 
will  always  be  an  unlucky  rascal.  The  infinite  variety  of 
lives  conduct  but  to  death,  and  the  infinity  of  wishes  lead 
but  to  disappointment.  All  the  discoveries  which  have  yet 
been  made  have  multiplied  little  but  existence." 


LECTURE   V. 


chemistry,  and  in  the  splendid  crowds  who 
thronged  to  his  lectures;  from  the  moment 
that  he  found  a  generous  patron  till  he  became 
a  Baronet  of  the  United  Kingdom,  and  Presi- 
dent of  the  Eoyal  Society,  his  whole  career  was 
a  series  of  rare  felicities.  Nor  was  he  the  an- 
choret of  science,  a  lonely  and  smoke-dried 
alchemist.  He  was  a  man  of  fashion,  and,  like 
Solomon,  mingled  "  madness  and  folly"  with 
graver  pursuits.  Yet  with  all  his  versatile 
powers, — orator,  philosopher,  poet ;  and  with 
all  his  distinctions  glittering  around  him,  his 
heart  still  felt  hollow,  and  in  his  later  journals 
the  expressive  entry  was,  "Very  miserable." 
What  was  it  that  he  wanted  ?  He  himself  has 
told  us :  "I  envy  no  quality  of  mind  or  intel- 
lect in  others, — not  genius,  power,  wit,  or 
fancy ;  but  if  I  could  choose  what  would  be 
most  delightful,  and  I  believe  most  useful  to 
me,  I  should  prefer  a  firm  religious  belief  to 
every  other  blessing ;  for  it  makes  life  a  disci- 
pline of  goodness,  creates  new  hopes  when  all 
earthly  hopes  vanish,  and  throws  over  the  de- 
cay, the  destruction  of  existence,  the  most  gor- 


THE   MUSEUM.  87 


geous  of  all  lights,  calling  up  the  most  delight- 
ful visions,  where  the  sensualist  and  skeptic 
view  only  gloom,  decay,  and  annihilation.7' 

Whilst  the  philosopher  has  here  truly  said 
that  nothing  can  fill  the  central  gulf  in  man's 
spirit,  except  a  sound  religious  belief,  he  speaks 
of  its  attainment  despondingly  ;  and  probably 
he  felt,  what  many  have  expressed,  that  it  is 
not  easy  for  a  man  of  science  to  "  receive  the 
kingdom  of  God  as  a  little  child/'  It  is  pos- 
sible that  some  one  now  present  may  be  in  the 
same  predicament.  You  wish  to  believe,  and 
are  sorry  to  doubt;  but  you  find  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  be  at  once  the  votary  of  science  and 
the  hearty  disciple  of  Jesus  Christ.  When  ex- 
amining the  evidence,  or  when  reading  the 
Bible  itself,  you  are  convinced  that  it  is  the 
Book  of  God.  You  recognize  on  its  pages  the 
same  autograph  with  which  you  have  long 
been  familiar  in  the  volume  of  creation,  the 
same  inimitable  style  of  majesty,  wisdom,  good- 
ness, and  power ;  and  you  own  that  to  refuse 
its  authenticating  credentials  would  be  to  set  at 
defiance  all  the  laws  of  evidence.  You  believe 


88  LECTUKE  V. 


the  Bible  as  long  as  you  are  in  its  own  society ; 
yon  love  it  as  long  as  you  commune  with  it. 
Looking  into  its  face  you  perceive  the  halo, 
and  tarrying  in  its  precincts  you  are  conscious 
of  the  Divinity  indwelling.  But  passing  away 
from  it,  and  no  longer  warmed  by  its  immedi- 
ate inspiration ;  mingling  with  the  cold  mate- 
rialisms which  it  is  your  province  to  explore ; 
handling  the  dry  preparations,  or  the  gritty 
fossils,  or  the  fuming  retort, — the  joy  and  the 
fragrance,  and  the  vital  influence  of  that  Bible 
fade,  and  your  devotion  expires.  Or,  when 
you  bore  into  the  strata,  and  find  yourself 
drilling  down  through  cycles  of  unimagined 
time;  or,  when  you  look  up  into  the  starry 
vault,  and  find  yourself  transported  into  a 
measureless  abyss,  and  its  unnumbered  worlds, 
— then  all  sorts  of  doubts  and  queries  seem  to 
rise  like  dragons  from  the  deep,  or  they  come 
trooping  home  like  spectres  from  the  dark  im- 
mensity. You  begin  to  feel  yourself  an  atom 
in  creation,  and  this  world  a  mere  mote  in  the 
universe,  and  you  cannot  help  thinking  reve- 
lation too  great  a  boon  for  such  an  atom,  and 


THE   MUSEUM.  89 


the  Advent  too  great  a  wonder  for  such  a 
world.  You  catch  yourself  saying,  not  in 
adoration,  but  in  doubt,  "  What  is  man,  that 
Thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?  Or,  what  the  son 
of  man,  that  Thou  shouldest  visit  him  ?" 

Now  I  will  not  stop  to  suggest  the  cure  for 
all  these  cavils.  I  might  say  that  the  best  cure 
for  nervous  spectres  or  nightmare  horrors,  is  to 
get  a  light,  or  look  at  something  familiar  and 
real ;  and  the  best  cure  for  skeptic  doubts  is  to 
look  at  the  Bible  itself.  And  I  might  farther 
say,  that  the  mind  is  soundest  and  best  con- 
structed which  receives  all  truth  on  its  own 
evidence,  and  which  does  not  suffer  every  wan- 
dering chimera  to  disturb  a  truth  thus  ascer- 
tained. But  as  it  is  a  difficulty  embarrassing 
to  some  thoughtful  minds,  we  may  just  glance 
a  little  at  the  religious  doubts  occasioned  by 
the  extent  of  the  universe. 

Twenty  years  ago  some  English  voyagers 
were  standing  on  a  flat  beach  within  the  Arc- 
tic Seas.  From  the  excitement  of  their  looks, 
the  avidity  with  which  they  gazed  into  the 
ground,  and  the  enthusiasm  with  which  they 


90  LECTUKE  V. 


looked  around  them,  it  was  evident  that  they 
deemed  it  a  spot  of  signal  interest.  But  any- 
thing outwardly  less  interesting  you  could 
hardly  imagine.  On  the  one  side,  the  coast 
retreated  in  low  and  wintry  ridges,  and  on  the 
other  a  pale  ocean  bore  its  icy  freight  beneath 
a  watery  sky,  whilst  under  the  travellers'  feet 
lay  neither  bars  of  gold  nor  a  gravel  of  gems, 
but  blocks  of  unsightly  limestone.  Yet  it  was 
the  centre  of  one  of  nature's  greatest  mysteries. 
It  was  the  reward  of  years  of  adventure  and 
hardship  ;  it  was  the  answer  to  the  long  aspi- 
rations and  efforts  of  science ;  it  was  the  Mag- 
netic Pole.  The  travellers  grudged  that  a  place 
so  important  should  appear  so  tame.  They 
would  have  liked  that  it  had  been  marked  by 
some  natural  monument,  a  lofty  peak  or  a  sin- 
gular rock.  They  were  almost  disappointed 
at  not  finding  an  iron  needle  as  high  as  Cleo- 
patra's own,  or  a  loadstone  as  big  as  Mont 
Blanc.* 

*  "  We  could  have  wished  that  a  place  so  important  had 
possessed  more  of  mark  or  note.  I  could  even  have  pardoned 
any  one  among  us  who  had  been  so  romantic  or  absurd  as  to 
expect  that  the  magnetic  pole  was  an  object  as  conspicuous 


THE   MUSEUM.  91 


One  day,  a  few  summers  since,  sailing  up  the 
Rhine  on  a  dull  and  windy  afternoon,  with  lit- 
tle to  look  at  but  the  sedgy  banks  and  the 
storks  exploring  for  reptiles  among  them — the 
vessel  halted  over  against  an  old  German  town. 
We  were  looking  languidly  at  its  distant  spires, 
and  carelessly  asked  some  one  what  town  it 
was  ?  "  Worms."  Worms !  The  battle-field 
of  the  Eeformation;  the  little  Armageddon 
where  light  and  darkness,  truth  and  error,  lib- 
erty and  despotism,  the  Son  of  God  and  the 
Prince  of  Darkness  fought  together  not  so  long 
ago !  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  swarm  with  Im- 
perial troops  and  bluff  old  burghers ;  and  had 
we  been  near  enough  we  should  have  glanced 
up  to  the  tiles  on  the  house-tops,  and  in  the 
streets  looked  out  for  Luther ;  but  though  it 
was  the  very  spot  where  Protestantism  gained 
its  decisive  victory,  the  spot  where  modern 
Europe  threw  off  the  cerements  of  the  middle 
age,  and  emerged  to  life,  to  enterprise,  and 
freedom,  there  was  no  outward  sign  to  tell  it, 

and  mysterious  as  the  fabled  mountain  of  Sindbad,"  <fec. — 
JRoss's  "  Second  Voyage." 


92  LECTURE  V. 


a  dreary  German  town  on  a  swampy  plain — 
that  was  all. 

Thus  is  it  usually  with  memorable  places. 
There  is  nothing  external  to  arrest  the  eye ;  no 
gigantic  landmark  nor  natural  sign  to  serve 
for  a  Sistej  viator :  and  the  more  refined  and 
reflective  do  not  grudge  this.  They  feel  that 
morally  there  is  nothing  so  sublime  as  simpli- 
city, and  that  it  is  God's  way  to  work  great 
wonders,  not  only  by  means  of  the  things 
which  are  despised,  but  in  despicable  localities. 
Man  is  a  materialist,  and  he  tries  to  give  a  ma- 
terial magnitude  to  memorable  places ;  but 
God  chooses  any  common  spot  for  the  cradle 
of  a  mighty  incident,  or  the  home  of  a  mighty 
spirit.  Elbowing  through  Bread-street,  amid 
trucks  and  drays  and  Cheapside  tumult,  who 
would  fancy  that  here  was  the  bower  where 
the  bard  of  Paradise  was  born ;  or  looking  up 
to  that  small  window  in  the  Canongate,  who 
would  guess  that  from  these  narrow  precincts 
the  spirit  which  new-created  Scotland  passed 
away?  Or,  sailing  along  the  deep,  what  is 
there  to  tell  you  that  this  rock  was  the  cage  of 


THE   MUSEUM.  93 


the  captured  eagle,  the  basaltic  prison  where 
he  chafed  and  pined  and  died ;  and  yon,  the 
willow-tree,  under  which,  he  quietly  slept,  the 
Magor-Missabib  of  modern  history  ?  Or,  float- 
ing on  the  soft  JEgean,  and  looking  up  to  the 
marble  cliffs,  where  the  aconite  grows  and  the 
halcyon  slumbers  in  the  sun,  what  trace  is 
there  to  tell  that  heaven's  windows  once  opened 
here ;  that  here  the  last  thrill  of  inspiration 
was  felt,  and  here  the  last  glimpse  of  a  glori- 
fied Eedeemer  vouchsafed?  To  the  passing 
glance  or  the  uninstructed  eye,  they  are  mean 
and  inconspicuous  places — so  mean,  that  ascer- 
taining the  wonders  connected  with  them,  the 
vulgar  world  declares  them  unworthy  of  such 
distinction  till  otherwise  distinguished,  and  ex- 
claims, "  Let  us  build  a  monument,  a  mausole- 
um, or  a  church."  But  to  spirits  truly  great, 
every  place  is  great  which  mind  or  moral  glory 
has  aggrandized.  Patmos  could  not  be  im- 
proved though  it  were  expanded  into  a  conti- 
nent ;  nor  the  house  where  a  poet  was  born  or 
a  Eeformer  died,  though  it  were  enshrined  be- 
neath a  national  monument. 


94:  LECTURE   V. 


There  is  another  remark  which  we  may  make 
regarding  memorable  places.  They  are  usually 
more  interesting  to  strangers  than  to  the  regu- 
lar residents.  Had  the  Esquimaux  seen  Cap- 
tain Eoss  and  his  party,  they  would  have  mar- 
velled what  brought  a  band  of  Englishmen 
from  their  comfortable  homes  to  that  bleak  and 
barren  shore.  And,  far  from  sympathizing  in 
their  errand,  they  could  hardly  have  been 
taught  to  understand  it.  Food,  not  informa- 
tion, being  their  chief  motive  to  exertion,  they 
would  gladly  have  sold  the  magnetic  pole  for 
a  few  pounds  of  blubber  or  a  few  pints  of  oil. 
It  was  interesting  enough  to  British  science  to 
bring  many  at  the  peril  of  their  lives ;  but  to 
the  poor  benighted  natives  it  never  had  occurred 
that  there  was  anything  more  important  in 
that  particular  spot  than  in  any  other  bend  of 
their  frozen  beach.  And  so  of  historic  scenes. 
You  know  more  about  Luther's  bold  appear- 
ance at  the  Imperial  Diet  than  do  most  of  the 
people  who  now  reside  at  Worms.  The  spot 
where  a  great  battle  was  fought,  or  where  a 
great  hero  breathed  his  last,  is  often  interesting 


THE   MUSEUM.  95 


to  its  inhabitants  only  as  a  source  of  gain ; 
and  unless  they  be  men  of  congenial  taste  and 
strong  emotion,  people  will  hurry  daily  past 
the  places  consecrated  by  departed  greatness, 
without  finding  their  step  detained  or  their 
spirit  stirred.  It  is  reserved  for  the  far-come 
traveller  to  stand  still  and  wonder  where  the 
incurious  native  trudges  on,  or  only  wonders 
what  it  is  that  the  stranger  is  gazing  at. 

Our  earth  is  a  little  world.  In  bulk  it  is 
little  as  compared  with  some  of  its  neighbors. 
Even  the  same  planetary  system  contains  one 
world  a  hundred  times,  and  another  three  hun- 
dred times  as  large  ;  whilst,  if  suns  be  peopled 
worlds,  there  are  suns  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  times  as  large.  And  there  are  races  of  in- 
telligence and  capacity  far  beyond  our  own — • 
races  both  fallen  and  unfallen,  to  which  our 
highest  genius  may  seem  a  curious  simplicity, 
and  our  vastest  information  an  interesting  ig- 
norance, even  as  we  may  smile  at  the  wit  and 
knowledge  of  the  Esquimaux.  But  this  is  the 
little  world,  and  ours  the  lowly  race,  which 
God  selected  as  the  scene  and  the  subject  of 


96  LECTURE  V. 


the  most  amazing  interposition.  Like  its  own 
Bethlehem  Ephratah,  little  among  thousands 
of  worlds ;  like  its  own  Patmos,  a  point  in  the 
ocean  of  existence,  our  earth  already  stands 
alone  in  the  universe,  and  will  stand  forth  in 
the  annals  of  eternity,  illustrious  for  its  fact 
without  a  parallel.  It  is  the  world  on  which 
the  mystery  of  redemption  was  transacted  ;  it 
is  the  world  into  which  Christ  came.  And 
though  lower  than  the  angels,  ours  is  the  race 
which  Jehovah  has  crowned  with  one  peerless 
glory,  one  unequalled  honor.  It  is  the  race 
which  God  has  visited.  Ours  is  the  flesh 
which  Incarnate  Deity  wore,  and  ours  is  the 
race  for  whose  sinners  the  Son  of  God  poured 
forth  a  ransom  in  his  blood.  This  is  the  event 
which  over  our  small  planet  sheds  a  solemn 
interest,  and  draws  toward  it  the  wondering 
gaze  of  other  worlds.  And  just  as  in  travers- 
ing the  deep,  when  there  rises  on  the  view 
some  spot  of  awful  interest  or  affecting  mem- 
ory, you  slack  the  sail,  and  passengers  strain 
the  eye,  and  look  on  in  silent  reverence ;  so, 
in  their  journeys  through  immensity  the  flight 


THE   MUSEUM.  97 


of  highest  intelligences  falters  into  wonder  and 
delay  as  they  near  this  little  globe.  There  is 
something  in  it  which  makes  them  feel  like 
Moses  at  Horeb,  "  Let  me  draw  near  and  see 
this  great  sight," — a  marvel  and  a  mystery 
here  which  angels  desire  to  look  into.  It  is  a 
little  world,  but  it  is  the  world  where  God  was 
manifest  in  flesh.  And  thoiigh  there  may  be 
spots  round  which  the  interest  gathers  in  most 
touching  intensity  ;  though  it  may  be  possible 
to  visit  the  very  land  whose  acres  were  trod 
by  "  those  blessed  feet  which  our  offences 
nailed  to  the  accursed  tree  ;"  though  you  might 
like  to  look  on  David's  town  where  the  advent 
took  place,  and  on  the  hills  of  Galilee  where 
his  sermons  were  preached,  and  on  the  limpid 
Gennesareth  which  once  kissed  his  buoyant 
sandals,  and  on  that  Jerusalem  which  He  loved 
and  pitied,  and  where  He  died,  and  that  Olivet, 
from  whose  gentle  slope  the  Prince  of  Peace 
ascended,  I  own  that  with  me  it  is  not  so  much 
Jerusalem  or  Palestine  as  Earth,  Earth  herself. 
Since  it  received  the  visit  of  .the  Son  of  God, 
in  the  eye  of  the  universe  the  entire  globe  is  a 
7 


98  V  LECTURE  V. 


Holy  Land ;  and  such  let  it  ever  be  to  me. 
So  wicked  and  sin-tainted  that  it  must  pass 
through  the  fire  ere  all  be  ended,  it  is  withal 
so  consecrated  and  so  dear  to  heaven  that  it 
must  not  be  destroyed  ;  but  a  new  earth  with 
righteousness  dwelling  in  it  shall  perpetuate  to 
distant  ages  its  own  amazing  story.  And 
though  an  illustrious  author  wrote,  "  I  have 
long  lost  all  attachment  to  this  world  as  a  lo- 
cality,""* I  do  not  wish  to  share  the  feeling. 
I  like  it  for  its  very  littleness.  I  like  to  stand 
on  its  lonely  remoteness,  and  look  aloft  to 
vaster  and  brighter  orbs  ;  and  when  I  consider 
the  heavens,  the  moon  and  the  stars,  then  say 
I,  "  What  is  man  that  thou  shouldest  visit 
him  ?"  And,  as  in  the  voyage  of  the  spheres, 
I  sail  away  in  this,  the  little  barque  of  man,  it 
comes  over  me  with  melting  surprise  and 
adoring  astonishment  that  mine  is  the  very 
world  into  which  the  Saviour  came  ;  and  as  I 
farther  recall  who  that  Saviour  was, — that  for 
Him  to  become  the  highest  seraph  would  have 
been  an  infinite  descent,  or  to  inhabit  the 
*  Foster. 


THE   MUSEUM.  99 


hugest  globe  a  strange  captivity, — instead  of 
seeking  to  inflate  this  tiny  ball  into  the 
mightiest  sphere,  or  stilt  up  this  feeble  race  to 
angelic  stature,  I  see  many  a  reason  why,  if  an 
Incarnation  were  at  all  to  be,  a  little  world 
should  be  the  theatre,  and  a  little  race  the 
object. 

It  would  indeed  give  melancholy  force  to 
the  saying,  "  Much  wisdom  is  much  grief,"  if 
much  wisdom  were  fatal  to  the  Christian  faith, 
and  if  he  who  increased  his  general  knowledge 
must  forfeit  his  religious  hopes.  But  whilst 
science  is  fatal  to  superstition, — whilst  fatal  to 
lying  wonders  and  monkish  legends,  it  is  forti- 
fication to  a  scriptural  faith.  The  Bible  is 
the  bravest  of  books.  Coming  from  God, 
and  conscious  of  nothing  but  God's  truth,  it 
awaits  the  progress  of  knowledge  with  calm 
security.  It  watches  the  antiquary  ransacking 
among  classic  ruins,  and  rejoices  in  every 
medal  he  discovers,  and  every  inscription  he 
deciphers ;  for  from  that  rusty  coin  or  corroded 
marble  it  expects  nothing  but  confirmations 


100  LECTURE  V. 


of  its  own  veracity.  In  the  unlocking  of  an 
Egyptian  hieroglyphic,  or  the  unearthing  of 
some  ancient  implement,  it  hails  the  resur- 
rection of  so  many  witnesses ;  and  with  spark- 
ling elation  it  follows  the  botanist  as  he  scales 
Mount  Lebanon,  or  the  zoologist  as  he  makes 
acquaintance  with  the  beasts  of  the  Syrian 
desert,  or  the  traveller  as  he  stumbles  on  a 
long-lost  Petra,  or  Nineveh,  or  Babylon;  for 
in  regions  like  these  every  stroke  of  the  ham- 
mer and  every  crack  of  the  rifle  awaken 
friendly  echoes,  and  every  production  and 
every  relic  bring  home  a  friendly  evidence. 
And  from  the  march  of  time  it  fears  no  evil, 
but  calmly  abides  the  fulfilment  of  those 
prophecies  and  the  forthcoming  of  those  events 
with  whose  predicted  story  Inspiration  has  al- 
ready inscribed  its  page.  It  is  not  light  but 
darkness  which  the  Bible  deprecates  ;  and  if 
men  of  piety  were  also  men  of  science,  and  if 
men  of  science  would  "search  the  Scriptures/* 
there  would  be  more  faith  in  the  earth,  and 
also  more  philosophy. 

Few  minds  are  sufficiently  catholic.     The 


THE   MUSEUM.  101 


psychologist  is  apt  to  despise  the  material 
sciences,  and  few  mathematicians  are  good  his- 
torians. But  although  there  may  be  indiffer 
ence,  or  rivalry  amongst  their  votaries,  there 
is  no  antagonism  between  the  truths  them 
selves.  There  exists  a  mind  as  well  as  a  ma- 
terial universe,  and  there  are  laws  of  thought 
as  well  as  laws  of  motion ;  and  although  it 
cannot  be  proved  by  algebra,  yet  it  is  pretty 
certain  that  Julius  Caesar  invaded  Britain,  and 
that  George  Washington  achieved  the  inde- 
pendence of  America.  All  truths  are  friendly 
and  mutually  consistent,  and  he  is  the  wisest 
man  who,  if  he  cannot  be  an  adept  in  all 
knowledge,  dreads  none  and  despises  none; 
the  Baconian  intelligence  to  which  the  Word 
and  the  works  of  the  Most  High  are  alike  a 
revelation,  and  to  which  both  alike  are  faith- 
ful witnesses,  though  both  are  not  alike  articu- 
late. 

Be  sages  then,  not  sciolists.  In  the  world 
of  knowledge  be  cosmopolite,  and  be  not  the 
pedants  of  one  department.  Be  historians  as 
well  as  mathematicians.  Keceive  every  truth 


102  LECTURE  V. 


on  its  appropriate  evidence,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing to  prevent  your  faith  in  the  Gospel  from 
being  equally  strong  with  your  faith  in  the 
course  of  nature.  And  although  the  Cyclops 
of  science  may  have  an  eye  for  only  one  half 
of  truth's  horizon ;  although  the  bigot  of 
demonstration  may  jeer  at  testimony ;  although 
the  sectary  of  physics  may  repudiate  history  ; 
if  your  knowledge  be  really  "  general ;"  if  it 
be  sufficiently  comprehensive, and  catholic,  and 
correct  withal, — the  more  you  grow  in  knowl- 
edge the  more  will  you  be  confirmed  in  that 
most  excellent  of  all  knowledge, — a  positive 
and  historical  Christianity.* 

But  you  say,  the  natural  sciences  are  all 

*  Of  how  much  skepticism  has  Bacon  given  the  rationale 
in  his  noted  sentence,  "  A  little  philosophy  inclineth  man's 
mind  to  Atheism ;  but  depth  in  philosophy  bringeth  men's 
minds  about  to  religion." — ESSAYS  16.  And  of  how  many 
Freethinkers  might  the  foolish  boasting  be  silenced  in  the 
words  which  Newton  retorted  on  the  infidel  Halley,  "  I  have 
studied  these  things,  and  you  have  not."  There  are  various 
sources  of  unbelief ;  but  next  to  the  "  evil  heart,"  the  most 
fruitful  is  ignorance.  It  is  easy  for  a  sciolist  to  be  a  skeptic ; 
but  it  is  not  easy  for  a  well-informed  historian  to  reject  the 
records  of  faith. 


THE   MUSEUM.  103 

certain  ;  theology  is  all  conflict  and  confusion. 
Let  us  understand  one  another.  If  you  say 
that  the  phenomena  of  nature  are  all  patient 
and  explicit,  I  reply,  And  so  are  the  sayings 
of  Scripture.  If  candor  and  ingenuousness  can 
interpret  the  one,  they  may  equally  expound 
the  other.  But  if  you  say  that,  unlike  the 
"Word  of  God,  his  works  have  never  been 
misunderstood,  you  surely  forget  that  the  "  His- 
tory of  the  Inductive  Sciences"  is  just  a  history 
of  erroneous  interpretations  replaced  by  inter- 
pretations less  erroneous,  and  destined  to  be 
succeeded  by  interpretations  still  more  ex- 
haustive and  true.  If  you  smile  at  the  Hutch- 
isonian  or  Cocceian  systems  of  exegesis ;  if 
you  quote  the  hostile  theories  which  still  linger 
in  the  field  of  polemics,  I  ask,  Is  this  peculiar 
to  theology?  Have  you  forgotten  how  the 
abhorrers  of  a  vacuum  abhorred  Torricelli  and 
Pascal?  Have  you  forgotten  how  the  old 
physiologists  were  vexed  at  Harvey  for  dis- 
covering the  circulation  of  the  blood?  Do 
yon  not  remember  how  the  Stahlian  chemists, 
like  a  burnt-out  family,  long  lingered  round 


104:  LECTURE   V. 


the  ashes  of  phlogiston,  and  denounced  tli4 
wilful  fire-raising  of  Lavoisier  and  oxygen  ? 
In  early  youth  have  you  never  seen  a  disciple 
of  Werner,  and  pitied  the  affectionate  tenacity 
with  which  he  clung  to  the  last  plank  of  the 
Neptunian  theory  ?  Or  would  every  world- 
maker  forgive  Lord  Eosse's  telescope  if  it 
swept  from  the  firmament  all  trace  of  the  neb- 
ular hypothesis  ?  Or,  because  there  is  still  an 
emission  as  well  as  an  undulatory  theory  of 
light,  must  we  deny  that  optics  is  a  science, 
and  must  we  hold  that  the  laws  of  refraction 
and  reflection  are  mere  matters  of  opinion? 
Nature  is  no  liar,  although  her  "  minister  and 
interpreter"  has  often  mistaken  her  meaning; 
and,  notwithstanding  the  errors  which  have 
received  a  temporary  sanction  from  the  learned, 
there  is,  after  all,  nothing  but  truth  in  the 
material  universe ;  and,  so  far  as  man  has  sa- 
gacity or  sincerity  to  collect  that  truth,  he  has 
got  a  true  science,  a  true  astronomy,  a  true 
chemistry,  a  true  physiology,  as  the  case  may 
be.  And  even  so,  whatsoever  vagaries  partic- 
ular persons  may  indulge,  or  whatsoever  false 


THE   MUSEUM.  105 


systems  may  receive  a  transient  support,  there 
is,  after  all,  nothing  but  truth  in  the  Bible, 
and  so  far  as  we  have  sincerity  or  sagacity  to 
collect  that  Bible-truth,  we  have  got  a  true 
religion.  Nay,  the  most  important  facts  and 
statements  in  that  Word  speak  for  themselves 
and  require  no  theory.  And  just  as  the  mari- 
ner might  safely  avail  himself  of  Jupiter's  sat- 
ellites, though  Copernicus  had  never  existed ; 
just  as  the  gunner  must  allow  for  the  earth's 
attraction,  whatever  becomes  of  the  Newtonian 
philosophy ;  just  as  the  apothecary  would  con- 
tinue to  mix  his  salts  and  acids  in  definite 
proportions,  even  although  some  mishap  befel 
the  atomic  theory  ;  just  as  we  ourselves  do  not 
close  our  eyes  and  dispense  with  light,  until 
the  partisans  of  rays  shall  have  made  it  up 
with  the  advocates  of  ether, — so  the  Scriptures 
abound  in  statements  and  facts  on  which  we 
may  safely  proceed,  whatever  becomes  of  hu- 
man theories.  "  God  so  loved  the  world,  that 
He  gave  his  only-begotten  Son,  that  whoso- 
ever belie veth  in  Him  should  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life."  "  This  is  a  faithful  say- 


106  LECTURE  V. 


ing,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that  Christ 
Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners.'7 
"  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  thou 
shalt  be  saved."  "  If  any  man  be  in  Christ  Je- 
sus, he  is  a  new  creature:"  so  far  as  it  is 
founded  on  such  sayings  as  these,  religion  is 
not  only  the  simplest,  but,  being  immediately 
from  God,  it  is  the  most  secure  of  all  the  sci- 
ences. 

However,  we  must  add  one  remark.  In  the 
region  of  revealed  truth,  increasing  knowledge 
will  not  always  be  increasing  conviction,  unless 
that  knowledge  be  progressively  reduced  to 
practice.  If  knowledge  be  merely  speculative, 
in  extending  it  a  man  may  only  "  increase  sor- 
row ;"  for  it  is  "  with  the  heart  that  man  be- 
lieveth  unto  righteousness/'  and  it  is  to  the 
"doers"  of  his  Father's  will  that  the  Saviour 
promises  an  assuring  knowledge  of  his  own 
"doctrine."*  The  mind  needs  tonics.  For 
the  body,  next  to  wholesome  food,  the  best 
toning  is  vigorous  exercise ;  and  if  long  cra- 
dled in  a  luxurious  repose,  the  penalty  is  paid 

*  Rom.  x.  10  ;  John  vii.  17. 


THE   MUSEUM.  107 


at  last  in  so  many  imaginary  ills  as  constitute 
a  real  one.  And  just  as  the  child  of  sloth  is 
haunted  by  visionary  fears  ;  as  he  dreads  that 
his  pulse  will  stop  or  the  firmament  fall  in :  so 
the  man  who  arrests  his  moral  activities  and 
lets  his  fancy  wander  at  its  will ;  the  man  who 
is  doing  no  service  to  God  and  no  good  in 
the  world,  will  soon  become  an  intellectual 
hypochondriac.  Musing,  day-dreaming,  mar- 
velling, he  will  soon  believe  the  phantoms  of 
his  own  creating,  and  will  not  be  able  to  be- 
lieve the  facts  of  God's  revealing.  And  as 
the  meet  recompense  of  his  indolence  and  use- 
lessness,  if  he  be  not  given  up  to  believe  a  lie, 
his  relaxed  and  pithless  grasp  will  not  be  able 
to  hold  fast  a  single  truth  :  like  an  interesting 
scholar,  whose  life  we  lately  read,  and  who 
during  years  of  speculative  inactivity,  dwin- 
dled down  from  a  devout  and  laborious  clergy- 
man to  a  slipshod  and  etiolated  free-thinker,* 
and  like  those  voluptuous  theologians  of  Ger- 
many who  mope  away  their  lives  in  selfish 

*  See  the  remarks  at  the   close   of  Archdeacon  Hare's 
1  Life  of  Sterling." 


108  LECTUKE  V. 


meditation,  and  who,  never  letting  their  breth- 
ren taste  the  fruits  of  their  practical  benefi- 
cence, are  never  themselves  permitted  to  taste 
the  blessing  of  a  sure  belief.  The  true  remedy 
for  this  spiritual  moodiness  is  a  holy  and 
abundant  activity.  So  deemed  the  Apostle 
Paul.  In  the  midst  of  a  glowing  argument, 
and  when  refuting  certain  cavils  against  the 
Resurrection  which  had  arisen  in  the  Church 
of  Corinth,  he  ejaculates  all  at  once,  "Be  not 
deceived;  evil  communications  corrupt  good 
manners.  Awake  to  righteousness  and  sin 
not,  for  some  have  not  the  knowledge  of 
God."*  Like  a  sagacious  physician  who  finds 
his  patient  haunted  by  fantastic  fears,  and  who 
orders  him  out  into  the  open  air,  and  compels 
him  to  dig,  or  row,  or  wrestle ;  and  after  a  few 
days  of  this  rough  regimen  the  crystal  arm 
grows  flesh  and  blood  ;  and  he  who  was  afraid 
that  the  sky  might  fall  and  smother  him,  be- 
gins to  have  faith  in  the  firmament, — so  the 
apostle  sounds  a  reveilkz  in  the  ear  of  these 
drowsy  reasoners.  '  Awake  to  righteousness ! 

*  1  Cor.  xv.  33-35. 


THE   MUSEUM.  109 


These  doubts  and  difficulties  are  the  fruits  of 
sloth.  They  are  the  hypochondriac  fancies 
which  lazy  loungers  nurse  in  one  another. 
Evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners. 
Rouse  you ! — Awake  to  righteousness.  Bestir 
you  in  the  business  of  practical  Christianity, 
and  these  shadows  will  flee  away  V  And  so 
to  any  haunted  or  unhappy  mind  here  present 
we  give  the  same  advice.  Do  you  admit  the 
Bible  to  be  the  Word  of  God,  and  yet  are  you 
haunted  with  speculative  doubts  and  evil  sur- 
misings  as  to  any  of  its  particular  doctrines  ? 
Then,  awake  to  righteousness !  Your  doubts 
are  ridiculous,  your  fears  are  unfounded,  and 
each  idle  hypothesis  might  be  easily  refuted. 
But  the  real  remedy  is,  not  reasoning,  but 
righteousness ;  not  the  arguments  of  others, 
but  your  own  practical  piety.  Awake,  then, 
to  righteousness.  Embody  in  your  conduct 
your  present  limited  stock  of  conviction.  Try 
to  pray  more,  or  praise  more  ;  try  to  cure  the 
bad  temper  or  the  unholy  passion  ;  try  to  do 
some  good  to  your  neighbors :  and  that  very 
effort  will  be  the  cure  of  some  cavils.  It  will 


110  LECTURE   V. 


teach  you,  for  one  thing,  that  the  heart  is  des- 
perately wicked,  and  that  if  God  does  not 
change  it,  nothing  else  can.  And  that  discove- 
ry will  prompt  you  to  prayer,  and  that  prayer 
will  procure  an  answer,  and  that  answer  will 
deepen  your  trust  in  God ;  and  thus  item  by 
item  your  faith  will  grow  exceedingly.  Thus, 
by  the  corrective  of  wholesome  discipline  and 
by  being  confronted  with  realities,  your  fool- 
ish doubts  will  dissipate;  and  the  doctrine 
which  was  incredible  to  a  lazy  and  dyspeptic 
intellect,  will  soon  be  absorbed  and  assimilated 
by  a  sound  understanding,  and  become  the  joy 
and  rejoicing  of  a  sanctified  soul. 

Alas !  for  the  knowledge  which  knows  no 
Saviour.  Alas !  for  the  science  which  includes 
no  Gospel.  The  most  erudite  of  lawyers  was 
Selden.  Some  days  before  his  death  he  sent 
for  Archbishop  Ussher,  and  said,  "  I  have  sur- 
veyed most  of  the  learning  that  is  among  the 
sons  of  men,  and  my  study  is  filled  with  books 
and  manuscripts  on  various  subjects,  yet  at 
this  moment  I  can  recollect  nothing  in  them 
all  on  which  I  can  rest  my  soul,  save  one  from 


THE   MUSEUM.  Ill 


the  sacred  Scriptures,  which,  lies  much  on  my 
spirit.  It  is  this :  i  The  grace  of  God  that 
bringeth  salvation  hath  appeared  to  all  men, 
teaching  us,  that  denying  ungodliness  and 
worldly  lusts,  we  should  live  soberly,  right- 
eously, and  godly,  in  this  present  world ;  look- 
ing for  that  blessed  hope,  and  the  glorious  ap- 
pearing of  the  great  God,  and  our  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ ;  who  gave  Himself  for  us,  that 
He  might  redeem  us  from  all  iniquity,  and  pu- 
rify unto  Himself  a  peculiar  people,  zealous  of 
good  works  !'"  Nor  is  it  only  at  the  close  of 
the  pilgrimage  that  the  hope  full  of  immortal- 
ity is  a  pearl  of  great  price.  Without  it,  life 
is  so  transient  that  every  invention  is  a  melan- 
choly plaything,  and  the  vastest  acquirements 
are  a  laborious  futility.  But  the  student  who 
toils  for  immortality  need  never  want  a  motive 
in  his  work ;  and,  however  sad  some  of  his 
discoveries  may  be,  the  sage  who  knows  the 
Saviour  will  always  have  in  his  knowledge  an 
overplus  of  joy. 


LECTURE    VI. 

€|JB  ^Utjljiiw  anil  tjii 


READ  ECCLES.  n.  1-11. 

"  Go  to  now,  I  will  prove  thee  with  mirth."  .  .  "  I  said  of 
laughter,  It  is  mad."  ..."  I  gave  myself  to  wine,  yet  ac- 
quainting myself  with  wisdom."  ...  "I  made  me  great 
works."  .  .  .  "Then  I  looked  on  all  the  works  that  my 
hands  had  wrought :  and,  behold,  all  was  vanity  and  vex- 
ation of  spirit." 

THIS  passage  describes  a  mental  fever.  The 
writer  tells  how,  by  quitting  the  wholesome 
climes  of  piety,  his  spirit  caught  a  deadly  chill, 
and  how,  in  the  morbid  excitement  which  fol- 
lowed, he  tossed  to  and  fro,  and  tried  every 
change, — burning  in  the  breeze,  and  shivering 
in  the  sun, — distracted  till  he  gained  his  wish, 
and  disgusted  to  find  that  what  he  wished  was 
not  the  thing  he  wanted.  First  mad  after  wis- 
dom, then  came  a  surfeit  of  learning — a  glut 


THE   PLAYHOUSE  AND  THE   PALACE.      113 


of  information,  and  he  denounced  much  wis- 
dom as  much  grief.  He  would  try  frivolity. 
He  would  take  things  easily,  and,  as  far  as 
might  be,  cheerily.  "  Go  to  now,  I  will  prove 
thee  with  mirth ;  therefore,  enjoy  pleasure." 
He  would  sip  the  surface  of  things,  and  snatch 
the  joys  which  divert  the  mind,  but  which  do 
not  fatigue  the  brain :  he  would  be  a  wit,  a 
man  of  humor,  a  merry  monarch.  And  he 
was.  But  his  own  mirth  soon  made  him  mel- 
ancholy. Like  phosphorus  on  a  dead  man's 
face,  he  felt  that  it  was  a  trick,  a  lie ;  and,  like 
the  laugh  of  a  hyena  among  the  tombs,  he 
found  that  the  worldling's  frolic  can  never  re- 
animate the  joys  which  guilt  has  slain  and 
buried.  "  I  said  of  laughter,  It  is  mad ;  and 
of  mirth,  What  doeth  it?"  So,  after  a  moody 
interval,  he  bethought  him  how  to  blend  the 
two.  Philosophy  by  itself  had  failed,  and 
folly  by  itself  had  also  failed.  But  how  would 
it  do  to  combine  them  ? — the  sprightly  with 
the  grave,  the  material  luxury  and  the  mental 
vivacity,  the  wisdom  and  the  wine?  Yes; 
into  his  ivy-wreath  he  would  twine  the  laurel, 
8 


114  LECTURE  VI. 


and  the  flat  potions  of  philosophy  he  would 
enliven  with  social  effervescence.  "  I  sought 
in  mine  heart  to  give  myself  unto  wine,  (yet 
acquainting  mine  heart  with  wisdom,)  and  to 
lay  hold  on  folly,  till  I  might  see  what  was 
that  good  for  the  sons  of  men,  which  they 
should  do  under  the  heaven  all  the  days  of 
their  life."  But  this  also  proved  a  failure. 
"Wine,  wisdom,  wit,"  became  a  mutually  de- 
structive mixture,  and  the  experimenter  ab- 
jured them,  in  order  to  try  the  pleasures  of 
taste.  Sculpture  and  painting  were  scarcely 
known  to  the  Hebrews ;  but  in  gardening, 
music,  and  architecture,  they  were  good  pro- 
ficients, and  to  these  the  sovereign  now  di- 
rected his  sumptuous  ingenuity.  Like  a  pet- 
rified dream,  the  palace  stood  forth  in  all  the 
freshness  of  virgin  marble,  and  in  all  the  pride 
of  its  airy  pinnacles.  In  the  wilderness  waters 
brake  forth,  and  spreading  their  molten  cool- 
ness over  the  dust  of  yesterday,'  artificial 
lakes  surrounded  artificial  isles ;  whilst  from 
the  fragrant  thickets  of  the  terraced  gardens, 
the  dulcet  sounds  of  foreign  minstrelsy  de- 


THE   PLAYHOUSE  AND  THE   PALACE.      115 

scended  where  the  royal  barge  lay  floating,  or 
through  the  lattice  wafted  into  the  banquet- 
hall  their  hints  of  superhuman  glory, — till  the 
vessels  of  gold  and  silver  sparkled  like  a  gal- 
axy, and  the  repast  was  enchanted  into  a  Di- 
vine refection;  and  in  proud  apotheosis  the 
monarch  smiled  upon  his  guests  from  a  god- 
like throne.  "  I  builded  me  houses,  I  planted 
me  vineyards,  I  made  me  pools  of  water  to 
water  the  groves  of  trees.  I  gat  me  men  sing- 
ers and  women  singers,  and  musical  instru- 
ments of  every  sort.  And  whatsoever  mine 
eyes  desired  I  kept  not  from  them ;  I  withheld 
not  my  heart  from  any  joy.  Then  I  looked 
on  all  the  works  that  I  had  wrought,  and  on 
the  labor  that  I  had  labored  to  do ;  and,  be- 
hold, all  was  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,  and 
there  was  no  profit  under  the  sun." 

Solomon  tried  mirth  and  abjured  it.  And, 
perhaps,  the  most  melancholy  life  is  that  of 
the  professed  merrymaker.  You  remember 
the  answer  of  the  wobegone  stranger,  when 
the  physician  advised  him  to  go  and  hear  the 
great  comedian  of  the  day — "  You  should  go 


116  LECTURE  VI. 

and  hear  Matthews."  "  Alas  !  Sir,  I  am  Mat- 
thews I"  Akin  to  which  is  the  account  of  one 
who  for  many  years  manufactured  mirth  for 
the  great  metropolis,  the  writer  of  diverting 
stories,  and  the  soul  of  every  festive  party 
which  was  able  to  secure  his  presence.*  But 
even  when  keeping  all  the  company  in  a  blaze 
of  hilarity,  his  own  heart  was  broken ;  and  at 
one  of  these  boisterous  scenes,  glimpsing  his 
own  pale  visage  in  the  glass,  he  exclaimed, 
ll  Ah  !  I  see  how  it  is.  I  look  just  as  I  am — 
done  up  in  mind,  in  body,  and  purse," — and 
went  home  to  sicken  and  die.  And  who  can 
read  this  passage  without  recalling  one  who  was 
sixty  years  ago  the  most  dazzling  speaker  in 
our  British  "Parliament,  whose  bow  had  as 
many  strings  as  life  had  pleasures, — the  wit, 
the  orator,  the  dramatist,  the  statesman,  the 
boon  companion  and  the  confidant  of  princes  ?f 
But  when  "wine"  had  quenched  the  u wis- 
dom ; "  when  riot  had  bloated  the  countenance, 
and  debt  had  dispersed  the  friends  of  the  man 
of  pleasure ;  when  in  splendid  rows  his  books 

*  Theodore  Hook.  f  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan. 


THE   PLAYHOUSE   AND  THE   PALACE.      117 

stood  on  the  shelves  of  the  brokers,  and  the 
very  portrait  of  his  wife  had  disappeared, — on 
a  wretched  pallet,  trembling  for  fear  of  a 
prison,  the  gloomy,  forsaken  worldling  closed 
his  eyes  on  a  scene  which  he  was  loth  to  quit, 
but  which  showed  no  wish  to  detain  him — 
leaving  "  no  profit  under  the  sun, "  and  with- 
out any  prospect  beyond  it. 

Nor  can  we  promise  a  satisfaction  more  solid 
to  the  godless  virtuoso.  Every  other  year  the 
public  is  startled  with  some  grand  explosion. 
A  great  tower  of  Babel  comes  toppling  down. 
There  is  a  tinkle  in  the  belfry, — a  premonitory 
jangling  of  the  crazy  chimes, — a  crackling  of 
the  timbers,  a  thunderous  down-pouring  of 
bricks  and  beams  and  tiles  and  plaster,  and 
through  the  dust  and  smoke  the  groans  of  the 
crushed  inmates  are  heard,  stifled  and  soon 
stilled :  arid  then  come  the  excavators, — the 
collectors  who  carry  off  the  curiosities  to  deco- 
rate other  toy-shops,  and  the  builders  who  buy 
the  bricks,  in  order  to  construct  new  Babels 
elsewhere. 

Not  long  ago  a  wealthy  compatriot  erected 


118  LECTURE   VI. 


such  a  palace  for  his  pride,  and  reared  it  with 
such  impatience  that  the  workmen  plied  their 
labors  night  and  day.  When  finished,  "  a  wall 
nearly  twenty  miles  in  circumference,  sur- 
rounded it.  Within  this  circle  scarcely  any 
visitors  were  allowed  to  pass.  In  sullen  gran- 
deur the  owner  dwelt  alone,  shunning  converse 
with  the  world  around.  Majesty  itself  was  de- 
sirous of  visiting  this  wonderful  domain,  but 
was  refused  admittance.  ...  Its  interior  was 
fitted  with  all  the  splendor  which  art  and 
wealth  could  create.  Gold  and  silver  cups  and 
vases  were  so  numerous  that  they  dazzled  the 
eye ;  and  looking  round  at  the  cabinets  and 
candelabra  and  ornaments  which  decorated  the 
apartment,  was  like  standing  in  the  treasury 
of  an  Eastern  prince."*  But  a  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds  a-year  failed  to  support  this  mag- 
nificence, and  the  gates  which  "refused  admit- 
tance to  a  monarch  were  thrust  open  by  a 
Sheriff's  officer  :"  and  whilst  its  architect  pined 
in  unpitied  solitude,  the  gorgeous  structure 
was  pulled  down  by  its  new  owner.  More  fre- 

*  "  The  Mirage  of  Life,"  a  publication  of  the  Tract  Society. 


THE  PLAYHOUSE  AND  THE   PALACE.      119 

quently,  however,  it  is  the  structure  which 
stands,  and  it  is  the  architect  who  becomes  the 
ruin.  Many  of  you  have  visited  Versailles. 
As  you  stood  upon  its  terraces,  or  surveyed  its 
pictures  furlong  after  furlong,  or  wandered 
among  its  enchanted  fountains,  did  it  strike 
you,  How  fresh  and  splendid  is  Versailles.; 
how  insignificant  is  now  its  author !  Or  did 
you  think  of  that  gloomy  day  when  in  one  of 
its  chambers  lay  dying  the  monarch  who  has 
identified  Versailles  with  his  royal  revelries, 
and  near  the  silken  couch  a  throng  of  courtiers 
lingered,  not  in  tears, — not  anxious  to  detain 
his  spirit,  not  sedulous  to  soothe  the  last  mo- 
ments of  mortal  anguish;  but  wearying  till 
their  old  master  would  make  an  end  of  it  and 
die,  that  they  might  rush  away  and  congratu- 
late his  son  and  successor.*  And  did  you 
think  that  thus  it  is  with  every  one  who  layeth 
up  treasure  for  himself,  and  who  is  not  rich 
towards  God  ?  Did  you  think  of  him  who 
said  to  his  soul,  when  he  had  built  his  larger 

*  See  the  death-scene  of  Louis  XV.  at  the  opening  of  Car- 
lyle's  "  French  Revolution." 


120  LECTURE  VI. 


barns,  "  Soul,  thou  "hast  goods  laid  up  for  many 
years ;  take  thine  ease,  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry  ;"  and  to  whom  God  said,  "Thou  fool, 
this  night  shall  thy  soul  be  required  of  thee : 
then,  whose  shall  these  things  be?" 

What  is  it  then  ?  Shall  we  denounce  learn- 
ing, genius,  wit  ?  Shall  we  proscribe  architec- 
ture and  all  the  arts  ?  For  this  some  have 
contended,  and  under  pretence  of  piety  they 
have  sought  to  become  barbarians.  But,  O 
man,  who  hath  required  this  at  thy  hands  ?  It 
is  the  work  of  God's  Spirit  to  sanctify  taste  and 
consecrate  talent ;  and  that  alone  is  excessive 
which  is  not  given  to  God.  In  "  walking 
about  Zion,"  we  must  ever  admire  the  noble 
"  bulwarks"  reared  by  Lardner  and  Butler,  and 
the  other  defenders  of  the  common  faith,  as 
well  as  the  "towers"  of  "orthodoxy 'erected  by 
the  learned  labors  of  Owen,  and  Haldane,  and 
Magee,  and  other  mighty  engineers ;  nor  less 
the  "  palaces"  which  at  once  adorn  the  city  and 
commemorate  the  genius  of  Watts,  and  Howe, 
and  Chalmers,  and  Vinet.  Nor  is  there  any 
reason  why  wit  should  always  be  "mad."  Re- 


THE  PLAYHOUSE  AND  THE  PALACE.      121 

ligion  may  be  sprightly,  and  dulness  may  be 
undevout.  A  Home  or  a  Cowper  may  be  per- 
mitted to  answer  a  fool  according  to  his  folly ; 
and  when,  with  the  tender  precision  of  a  Tell, 
the  polished  shafts  of  Wilberforce  split  in  twain 
an  opponent's  argument,  but  never  "  hurt  his 
head,"*  you  could  not  wish  fanaticism  to  de- 
stroy a  weapon  which  religion  guides  so  wisely. 
Though  pride  may  be  the  busiest  architect,  let 
us  not  forget  that  piety  and  philanthropy  have 
been  great  builders  also.  And  though  sensu- 
ality may  abuse  the  arts,  let  us  not  forget  how 
often  to  its  youthful  inmates  music  has  helped 
to  endear  the  earthly  home,  and  how  much 
devotion  is  indebted  to  "  the  service  of  song  in 
the  house  of  the  Lord."  Let  us  not  forget  thai; 
almighty  Artist  who,  every  spring,  paints  new 
landscapes  on  the  earth,  and  every  evening 
new  ones  in  the  sky, — whose  sculptures  are  the 
melting  clouds  and  everlasting  hills, — and 
whose  harp  of  countless  strings  includes  each 

*  Ps.  cxli.  5.  See  the  sketch  of  Wilberforce,  in  Sir  James 
Stephen's  "Historical  Essays,"  and  in  Lord  Brougham's 
"  Statesmen,"  first  series. 


122  LECTURE  VI. 


note  from  a  hare-bell's  tinkle  to  the  "  organic 
swell"  of  ocean's  thunder. 

What  is  it  then?  The  "instrument  of 
righteousness"  when  not  "  yielded  to  God,"  be- 
comes an  idol ;  and  every  idol  is  at  once  a  curse 
and  a  crime. 


LECTURE   VII. 


READ  ECCLES.  n.  12-23. 

*  There  is  no  perpetual  remembrance  of  the  wise  more  than 
of  the  fool."  "  Who  knoweth  whether  his  successor  shall 
be  a  wise  man  or  a  fool  ?" 

THE  noblest  renown  is  posthumous  fame; 
and  the  most  refined  ambition  is  the  desire  of 
such  fame.  A  vulgar  mind  may  thirst  for  im- 
mediate popularity  ;  and  very  moderate  talent, 
dexterously  managed,  may  win  for  the  moment 
the  hosannas  of  the  million.  But  it  is  a  Horace 
or  a  Milton,  a  Socrates  or  a  Sidney,  who  can 
listen  without  bitterness  to  plaudits  heaped  on 
feebler  rivals,  and  calmly  anticipate  the  day 
when  posterity  will  do  justice  to  the  powers  or 
the  achievements  of  which  he  is  already  con- 
scious. And  of  this  more  exalted  ambition  it 


124  LECTURE  VII. 

would  appear  that  Solomon  had  felt  the  stir- 
rings. When  he  looked  on  the  temple  and 
the  cedar  palace,  and  still  more  when  he 
thought  of  his  literary  exploits,  his  songs  and 
his  proverbs,  and  his  lectures  in  science,  the 
Non  omnis  moriar  was  a  thought  as  natural  as 
it  was  pleasing,  and  from  the  sense  of  flagging 
powers  and  the  sight  of  a  failing  body,  he 
gladly  took  refuge  in  the  promise  of  posthu- 
mous immortality.  But  even  that  cold  com- 
fort was  entirely  frozen  in  the  thought  which 
followed.  From  the  lofty  pinnacle  to  which, 
as  a  philosophic  historian,  he  had  ascended, 
Solomon  could  look  down  and  see  not  only  the 
fallibility  of  his  coevals,  but  the  forgetfulness 
of  the  generations  following.  He  knew  that 
there  had  often  been  great  men  in  the  world ; 
but  he  could  not  hide  it  from  himself,  how  little 
these  great  men  had  grown  already,  and  how 
infinitesimal  the  greatest  would  become,  if  the 
world  should  only  last  a  few  centuries  longer. 
And  so  far,  Solomon  was  right.  Few  things 
would  be  more  pathetic  than  if  we  had  some 
micrometer  for  measuring  great  men's  memo- 


THE   MONUMENT.  125 

ries, — some  means  for  ascertaining  the  decimal 
of  a  second  which  those  great  names  subtend 
in  our  historic  firmament,  who  filled  their 
living  age  with  lustre.  Even  Solomon 's  own, 
— intellectually  the  brightest  of  a  bygone  dis- 
pensation, and  with  all  the  advantage  of  the 
Bible  telescope  to  bring  it  near, — how  little  it 
enters  into  the  actual  thought  of  this  modern 
world  !  What  a  tiny  spark  it  twinkles  through 
the  foggy  atmosphere  of  this  material  time ! 
Had  a  life  in  the  hearts  of  future  men  been  all 
his  immortality,  how  little  worth  the  purchase ! 
and  how  much  wiser  than  their  philosophic 
monarch  were  those  "fools"  in  Jerusalem  who 
took  no  thought  to  add  this  cubit  to  their  age ! 
So,  brethren,  it  is  natural  to  wish  to  be  re- 
membered when  gone ;  and  as  a  substitute  for 
the  highest  motive,  or  a  succor  to  other  mo- 
tives, it  is  well  to  think  of  the  generation  fol- 
lowing. But,  as  it  usually  flatters  worldly 
men,  this  posthumous  fame  is  a  fallacy.*  u  A 

*  "  Are  not  all  things  born  to  be  forgotten  ?  In  truth,  it 
was  a  sore  vexation  to  me  when  I  saw,  as  the  wise  man  saw 
of  old,  that  whatever  I  could  hope  to  perform  must  neces- 
sarily be  of  very  temporary  duration ;  and  if  so,  why  do  it  I 


126  LECTURE  VII. 


living  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion."  Amidst 
the  importunate  solicitations  of  daily  business, 
many  of  us  must  accuse  ourselves  of  unfaith- 
fulness to  the  dead ;  and  when  tranquil  mo- 
ments call  up  their  familiar  images,  we  marvel 
how  we  can  deal  so  treacherously  with  the 
great  and  good  departed.  Vanished  from  our 
view,  expunged  from  our  correspondence, 
dropped  from  our  very  prayers,  no  longer  ex- 
pected as  visitors  in  our  homes, — it  is  marvel- 
lous how  faint  and  intermitting  their  memory 
has  grown ;  and  we  upbraid  our  ungrateful 
fancy  that  it  preserves  so  little  space  for  old 
benefactors,  and  the  once-cherished  friends  of 
our  bosom.  But  the  same  fate  awaits  our- 
selves ;  we,  too,  are  going  hence,  and  when  we 
are  gone, 

"  A  few  will  weep  a  little  while, 
Then  bless  our  memory  with  a  smile." 

Let  me  see  !  What  have  I  done  already  ?  I  have  learnt 
Welsh,  and  have  translated  the  songs  of  Ab  Gwilym ;  I  have 
also  rendered  the  old  book  of  Danish  ballads  into  English 
metre.  Good !  Have  I  done  enough  to  secure  myself  a 
reputation  of  a  thousand  years  ?  Well,  but  what's  a  thousand 
years  after  all,  or  twice  a  thousand  years  ?  Woe  is  me  !  I 
may  just  as  well  sit  still." — LAVENGRO. 


THE   MONUMENT.  127 

One  or  two  may  cling  to  it  with  tender  fond- 
ness, while  existence  lasts ;  but  even  with 
friends  affectionate  and  true,  tenderness  will 
soon  soften  into  resignation,  and  resignation 
will  subside  into  contentment,  and  contentment 
will  dull  away  into  sheer  forgetfulness ;  and  it 
will  only  be  on  some  rare  occasion, — some 
wakeful  night,  when  memory  is  holding  a  vigil 
of  all-souls,  or  when  a  torn  letter,  or  an  inscrip- 
tion in  a  book,  or  a  name  carved  on  the  beechen 
tree  conjures  up  the  past,  "and  a  spirit  stands 
before  you,"  that  the  fountain  of  early  love 
will  flow  anew,  and  you  will  pay  the  tribute 
of  the  long-suspended  tear.  But  even  that  will 
end.  A  race  will  arise  that  know  not  Joseph, 
and  to  whom  Joseph's  friends  will  not  be  able 
to  transfer  their  attachment ;  and  when  a 
fourth  or  a  fifth  generation  comes  upon  the 
stage,  so  dim  will  be  the  name,  and  so  diluted 
will  be  the  interest  in  it,  that  the  youth  would 
be  more  concerned  for  the  loss  of  a  favorite 
hound  than  for  the  extinction  of  his  grandsire's 
memory. 

But  if  this  be  the  phantom  for  which  the 


128  LECTURE  VII. 


worldling  toils  and  sighs,  there  is  a  posthu- 
mous fame  which  is  no  illusion.  If  there  be  no 
eternal  remembrance  of  the  world's  wise  men 
any  more  than  of  its  fools,  it  is  otherwise  with 
the  wise  ones  of  the  heavenly  kingdom.  God 
has  so  arranged  it  that  "the  righteous  shall  be 
held  in  everlasting  remembrance."  "They 
that,"  in  his  sight,  "are  wise,  shall  shine  as 
the  firmament,  and  they  that  turn  many  to 
righteousness,  as  the  stars  forever  and  ever." 
Great  men  may  covet  admiration,  but  good 
men  crave  affection.  Admiration  is  the  state- 
room, formal  and  rarely  used ;  but  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  affections  is  to  be  domiciled  in 
the  heart's  own  home, — to  live  where  lives  the 
soul  itself.  And  into  this  inmost  shrine  of 
good  men's  souls  God  admits  all  the  holy; 
nay,  with  reverence  speaking  it,  He  admits 
them  into  his  own.  The  love  of  Jehovah  is  a 
sanctuary  where  every  holy  being  has  a  home. 
But  not  content  with  giving  to  the  just  made 
perfect,  the  immortality  of  his  own  unchang- 
ing love,  a  gracious  God  secures  them  the  at- 
tachment of  congenial  minds ;  and  at  this  in- 


THE   MONUMENT.  129 


stant  there  is  not  in  all  the  universe  a  holy  be- 
ing but  God  has  found  for  it  a  resting-place  in 
the  love  of  other  holy  beings,  and  that  not 
temporarily,  but  for  all  eternity.  The  only 
posthumous  fame  that  is  truly  permanent  is  the 
memory  of  God ;  and  the  only  deathless  names 
are  theirs  for  whose  living  persons  He  has 
found  a  place  in  his  own  love,  and  in  the  love 
of  holy  beings  like-minded  with  Himself. 
Many  a  casket  has  been  broken,  and  the  gems 
of  fine  fancy  have  been  scattered  on  the  world, 
and  the  name  of  the  self-immolating  genius  is 
now  forgotten ;  but  that  box  of  ointment 
which  the  weeping  penitent  crushed  over  the 
feet  of  Jesus,  will  pour  its  fragrance  through 
all  time ;  for  wherever  there  is  a  Gospel  the 
Lord  Jesus  has  secured  that  there  shall  be 
spread  the  story.  And  so — war,  wisdom,  wit, 
— these  three  have  all  made  deep  indentations 
on  the  mind  of  man;  and  some  deeds  have 
been  so  brave,  and  some  inventions  so  beauti- 
ful, and  some  sayings  so  brilliant,  that  people 
vowed  they  never  would  be  forgotten.  But, 
alas !  it  was  the  fragile  imagination  of  sinful 


130  LECTURE  VII. 


man,  and  it  lias  long  ago  disintegrated.  It 
was  the  soft  and  viscid  memory  of  selfish  man, 
and  new  interests  and  new  objects  have  since 
flowed  in  and  filled  up  the  oozy  record.  But 
although  we  dare  not  say  that  any  thought  of 
earth  is  so  sublime  as  to  merit  a  record  in 
heaven,  on  the  highest  authority  we  know  that 
no  act  of  faith  is  so  insignificant  but  it  secures 
a  registration  there.  And  although,  fearful  of 
posthumous  flattery,  the  dying  Howards  of  our 
species  may  direct,  "  Place  a  sun -dial  on  my 
grave,  and  let  me  be  forgotten," — they  cannot 
expunge  their  labors  of  love  from  the  book  of 
remembrance,  and  they  will  never  be  forgotten 
by  God. 

But  even  beyond  posthumous  fame,  most 
men  would  like  to  be  perpetuated  in  well- 
doing and  affectionate  children.  And  here 
again,  a  gloomy  foreboding  darkened  the  mind 
of  Solomon.  He  had  greatly  extended  his 
hereditary  kingdom ;  he  had  amassed  an  un- 
precedented fortune ;  he  had  built  such  palaces 
as  only  Eastern  extravagance  had  dared  to 


THE   MONUMENT.  131 

dream ;  he  had  covered  his  name  with  glory 
as  a  statesman  and  a  lawgiver  and  a  sage ;  and 
all  this  glory — these  palaces, — yon  piles  of 
treasure, — that  splendid  empire, — the  whole 
was  such  a  prize  that  if  he  felt  sadness  in  leav- 
ing it,  he  also  felt  anxiety  about  transmitting 
it.  He  had  a  son ;  but,  from  expressions  here 
escaping,  it  would  almost  seem  as  if  Eehoboam 
already  betrayed  the  senselessness  and  arro- 
gance which  were  afterwards  to  make  him  the 
detestation  of  his  subjects,  and  the  butt  of  his 
neighbors.  The  heathen  marriages  and  the 
on-goings  of  the  father,  at  once  unkingly  and 
ungodly,  were  destined  to  yield  their  bitter 
fruits  in  the  son ;  and  it  is  possible  that  the 
backslider  already  felt  punished  in  foreseeing 
all  the  mischief  coming  on  the  kingdom 
through  the  pride  and  the  blunders  of  this 
wayward  youth.  "  Yea,  I  hated  all  my  labor 
which  I  had  taken  under  the  sun ;  because  I 
should  leave  it  unto  the  man  that  shall  be  after 
me.  And  who  knoweth  whether  he  shall  be  a 
wise  man  or  a  fool  ?  Yet  shall  he  have  rule 
over  all  my  labor  wherein  I  have  labored,  and 


132  LECTURE  VII. 


wherein  I  have  showed  myself  wise  -under  the 
sun.     This  also  is  vanity." 

Let  those  be  very  thankful  who  feel  that 
they  are  better  off  than  Solomon.  You  have 
not  a  sceptre,  a  title,  a  vast,  income  to  be- 
queath ;  but  you  have  well-doing  children. 
By  their  industry  and  mutual  affection,  above 
all,  by  promising  appearances  of  her  personal 
piety,  you  are  encouraged  to  hope  that  those 
who  come  after  you  will  be  an  honor  to  your 
name.  What  a  mercy !  Solomon  would  have 
given  his  sceptre  in  exchange  for  your  son. 
But  why  should  not  this  mercy  be  yet  more 
frequent  ?  It  is  true  that  "  grace  does  not  run 
in  the  blood,  though  sin  does."  But  it  is  also 
true  that  God  makes  his  grace  more  gracious 
by  often  causing  it  to  run  in  the  channel  of 
the  natural  affections.  "The  promise  is  unto 
you,  and  to  your  children."  And  where  there 
is  a  pious  affection,  the  best  gifts  will  be  those 
we  shall  covet  most  earnestly  for  its  objects. 
Where  parental  affection  is  also  devout,  it  will 
prompt  the  praj^er  which  David  offered  at  once 
for  himself  and  for  Solomon :  "  Give  the  king 


THE   MONUMENT.  133 

Thy  judgments,  0  God,  and  Thy  righteous- 
ness unto  the  king's  son."  And  in  that  pious 
affection  the  Lord  sympathizes,  and  such  pa- 
rerital  intercessions  He  delights  to  hear. 

And  although,  when  we  think  what  sort  of 
life  Solomon  for  a  long  period  led ;  when  we 
reflect  that  Kehoboam's  boyhood  and  youth 
were  spent  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  and  amidst 
scenes  of  the  most  extravagant  revelry ;  when 
we  consider  that  a  polygamist  like  Solomon 
can  never  have  a  home,  and  a  child  like  Eeho- 
boam  can  have  no  such  playmates  as  are  found 
in  an  undivided  family ;  when  we  recall  the 
idolatry  and  impiety  to  which  his  early  years 
had  been  inured,  and  remember  how  bad  was 
the  example  which  his  own  father  had  set  him 
— we  can  scarcely  wonder  that  the  son  of  Sol- 
omon proved  a  heart-break  to  his  father  and  a 
stigma  on  his  line :  still  we  are  not  the  less 
persuaded,  that  where  there  is  faithfulness  to 
God  as  well  as  affection  to  one's  children; 
where  there  are  earnest  prayer  and  a  corre- 
sponding pattern ;  and,  especially,  where  both 
parents  are  of  one  mind,  and  agreed  as  touch- 


134  LECTURE  VII. 


ing  this  thing,  God  will  do  it  for  them,  and 
the  promise  still  hold  true,  "to  you  and  to 
your  seed  after  you."  The  "  entail  of  the  cov- 
enant" is  largely  borne  out  by  religious  biog- 
raphy, and  our  Churches  are  mainly  composed 
of  the  pious  children  of  Christian  parents. 
Happy  they  who,  instead  of  a  tablet  in  the 
churchyard  wall,  are  thus  commemorated  by 
polished  stones  in  the  living  temple  I* 

*  Isaiah  liv.  11-18. 


LECTUKE  VIII 

nf  iBHtint(. 


READ  ECCLES.  ra.  1-15. 

«  To  everything  there  is  a  season."  ....  u  In  the  heart  of 
everything  God  hath  set  its  era."* 

ACCORDING  to  the  mood  of  the  spectator  the 
same  phenomena  will  exert  a  depressing  or  a 
reviving  influence  ;  and  according  to  the  bias 
of  the  reasoner  the  same  facts  will  be  adduced 
for  purposes  the  most  opposite.  If  we  were 
sure  that  in  this  passage  Solomon  was  giving 
the  matured  opinion  of  his  latest  and  penitent 
life,  the  text  would  be  a  lesson  of  resignation 
derived  from  the  absolute  sovereignty  and  all- 
controlling  providence  of  God  ;  but  if,  as  we 
have  all  along  held,  Solomon  writes  these 
*  Vs.  11,  oils  eternity,  duration,  <fec.  LXX.  atuv. 


136  LECTURE  VIII. 


verses  somewhat  in  sympathy  with  his  former 
self;  if  he  be  recalling  for  wise  purposes  the 
reasonings  and  surmisings  of  the  days  of  his 
vanity,  we  would  be  prepared  to  find  inter- 
mingled with  the  sublime  theology  of  this  sec- 
tion a  tincture  of  fatalism.  Accordingly,  in 
the  ninth  and  tenth  verses  we  read,  "What 
profit  hath  he  that  worketh  in  that  wherein  he 
laboreth?  I  have  seen  the  travail  which  God 
hath  given  to  the  sons  of  men,  to  be  exercised 
in  it."  '  This  universe  is  moving  in  a  groove 
of  adamant.  Man's  activity  is  a  make-believe, 
an  imposition  on  himself;  for  the  wheel  spins 
round  equally  fast  whether  the  blue-bottle 
push  it  forward  or  backward.  What  profit  is 
there  in  human  industry?  It  is  the  unpro- 
ductive travail  to  which  the  offended  Creator 
has  doomed  his  sinful  creature  ; — the  plough- 
ing of  the  sand,  the  weaving  of  the  air,  the 
manufacture  of  elaborate  nonentities.'  And 
yet,  so  true  are  the  facts  which  this  section 
notes,  and  so  solemn  the  inferences  from  them 
which  forced  themselves  on  the  mind  of  the 
royal  reasoner,  that  few  texts  contain  the  germs 


THE   CLOCK  OF  DESTINY.  137 

of  a  grander  theology.  Passing  over  the  im- 
potence and  helplessness  of  the  creature,  he 
saw  how  glorious  was  that  Omnipotence  which 
held  in  hand  the  guiding  reins  of  ponderous 
orbs  and  mighty  incidents,  and  at  the  predes- 
tined moment  would  bring  the  chariot  of  his 
sovereignty  to  its  triumphal  goal  in  the  far-off 
eternity.  He  saw  how  vast  is  that  Wisdom 
which  from  the  beginning  had  planned  the 
great  year  of  existence,  and  planned  it  so  com- 
plete that  nothing  needed  to  be  supplemented 
nor  superseded,  but  through  its  cycle  incon- 
ceivable the  universe  moved;  on  from  the  mo- 
ment of  its  starting,  ever  waxing,  ever  waning, 
and  through  its  summer  and  winter  of  un- 
counted ages  circling  round  to  its  successive 
springs.  "  He  hath  made  everything  beautiful 
in  his  time,  and  in  the  heart  of  everything  He 
hath  set  an  eternity  :  so  that  no  man  can  find 
out  from  beginning  to  end  any  work  that  God 
maketh — any  process  that  God  conducteth.  I 
know  that  whatsoever  God  doeth,  it  shall  be 
forever.  Nothing  can  be  put  to  it,  nor  any- 
thing taken  from  it  That  which  hath  been  is 


138  LECTURE  VIII. 

now,  and  that  which  is  to  be  hath  already 
been :  and  God  brings  back  the  past." 

"  To  everything  there  is  a  season,  and  a  time 
to  every  purpose  under  the  heaven."  As  if 
he  had  said,  Mortality  is  a  huge  time-piece 
wound  up  by  the  almighty  Maker ;  and  after 
He  has  set  it  a-going  nothing  can  stop  it  till 
the  angel  swears  that  time  shall  be  no  longer. 
But  here  it  ever  vibrates  and  ever  advances, — 
ticking  one  child  of  Adam  into  existence,  and 
ticking  another  out.  Now  it  gives  the  whirr 
of  warning,  and  the  world  may  look  out  for 
some  great  event ;  and  presently  it  fulfils  its 
warning,  and  rings  in  a  noisy  revolution.  But 
there  !  as  its  index  travels  on  so  resolute  and 
tranquil,  what  tears  and  raptures  attend  its 
progress !  It  was  only  another  wag  of  the 
sleepless  pendulum ;  but  it  was  fraught  with 
destiny,  and  a  fortune  was  made, — a  heart  was 
broken, — an  empire  fell.  We  cannot  read  the 
writing  on  the  mystic  cogs  as  they  are  coming 
slowly  up ;  but  each  of  them  is  coming  on 
God's  errand,  and  carries  in  its  graven  brass  a 
Divine  decree.  Now,  however, — now  that  the 


THE   CLOCK  OF  DESTINY.  139 

moment  is  past,  we  know ;  and  in  the  fulfil- 
ment we  can  read  the  fiat.  This  instant  was 
to  say  to  Solomon,  "  Be  born  !"  this  other  was 
to  say  to  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  "Die!" 
That  instant  was  to  "  plant"  Israel  in  Pales- 
tine;  that  other  was  to  a  pluck  him  up." 
And  thus  inevitable,  inexorable,  the  great 
clock  of  human  destiny  moves  on,  till  a  mighty 
hand  shall  grasp  its  heart  and  hush  forever  its 
pulse  of  iron. 

See  how  fixed,  how  fated  is  each  vicissi- 
tude !  how  independent  of  human  control ! 
There  is  "a  time  to  be  born, "  and  however 
much  a  man  may  dislike  the  era  on  which  his 
existence  is  cast,  he  cannot  help  himself:  that 
time  is  his,  and  he  must  make  the  most  of  it. 
Milton  need  not  cofnplain  that  his  lot  is  fallen 
on  evil  days ;  for  these  are  his  days,  and  he 
can  have  no  other.  Roger  Bacon  and  Galileo 
need  not  grudge  their  precious  being,  that 
they  have  been  prematurely  launched  into  the 
age  of  inquisitors  and  knowledge-quenching 
monks, — for  this  age  was  made  to  make  them. 
And  so  with  the  time  to  die.  Voltaire  need 


140  LECTURE  VIII. 


not  offer  half  his  fortune  to  buy  six  weeks'  re- 
prieve ;  for  if  the  appointed  moment  has  ar- 
rived it  cannot  pass  into  eternity  without 
taking  the  skeptic  with  it.  And  even  good 
Hezekiah — his  tears  and  prayers  would  not 
have  turned  the  shadow  backward  had  that 
moment  of  threatened  death  been  the  moment 
of  God's  intention.  Yes,  there  is  a  time  to 
die ;  and  though  we  speak  of  an  untimely  end, 
no  one  ever  died  a  moment  sooner  than  God 
designed,  nor  lived  a  moment  longer.  And  so 
there  is  a  time  to  plant.  The  impulse  comes 
on  the  man  of  fortune,  and  he  lays  out  his 
spacious  lawn,  and  studs  it  with  massive  trees ; 
and  he  plants  his  garden,  and  in  the  sod  im- 
beds the  rarest  and  richest  flowers,  or  he  piles 
up  little  mounts  of  blossomed  shrubbery,  till 
the  place  is  dazzled  with  bright  tints  and  dizzy 
with  perfume.  And  that  impulse  fades  away, 
and  in  the  fickleness  of  sated  opulence  the 
whole  is  rooted  up,  and  converted  into  wilder- 
ness again.  Or  by  his  own  or  a  successor's 
fall,  the  region  is  doomed  to  destruction  ;  and 
when  strangling  nettles  have  choked  the  gera- 


THE   CLOCK  OF  DESTINY.  141 

niums  and  the  lilies,  and,  crowded  into  atrophy, 
the  lean  plantations  grow  tall  and  branchless, 
the  axe  of  an  enterprising  purchaser  clears  the 
dank  thickets  away,  and  his  ploughshare  turns 
up  the  weedy  parterre.  There  is  a  time  when 
to  interfere  with  disease  is  to  destroy ;  when 
to  touch  the  patient  is  to  take  his  life :  and 
there  is  a  time  when  the  simplest  medicine 
will  effect  a  marvellous  cure.  There  is  a  time 
when  the  invader  is  too  happy  to  dismantle  the 
fortress  which  so  long  kept  him  at  bay ;  but 
by-and-by,  when  he  needs  it  as  a  bulwark  to 
his  own  frontiers,  with  might  and  main  he 
seeks  to  build  it  up  again.  Nor  can  any  one 
fix  a  date  and  say,  I  shall  spend  that  day  mer- 
rily, or  I  must  spend  it  mournfully.  The  day 
fixed  for  the  wedding  may  prove  the  day  for 
the  funeral ;  and  the  ship  which  was  to  bring- 
back  the  absent  brother,  may  only  bring  his 
coffin.  On  the  other  hand,  the  day  we  had 
destined  for  mourning,  God  may  turn  to 
dancing,  and  may  gird  it  with  irresistible  glad- 
ness. Nor  are  earth's  monuments  perpetual. 
The  statue  reared  one  day  will  be  thrown  into 


142  LECTURE  VIII. 

the  river  another,  and  the  trophy  commenced 
by  one  conqueror  shall  owe  its  completion  to 
his  rival  and  supplanter.  "  There  is  a  time 
to  embrace,  and  a  time  to  refrain  from  em- 
bracing/' "  There  is  a  time  when  the  fond- 
ness of  friendship  bestows  its  caresses,  and  re- 
ceives them  in  return  with  reciprocal  sincerity 
and  delight ;  and  a  time  when  the  ardor  cools; 
when  professions  fail ;  when  the  friend  of  our 
bosom's  love  proves  false  and  hollow-hearted, 
and  the  sight  of  him  produces  only  the  sigh 
and  tear  of  bitter  recollection.  We  refrain 
from  embracing,  because  our  embrace  is  not 
returned."*  "  There  is  a  time  to  get,  and  a 
time  to  lose."  There  is  a  time  when  every  en- 
terprise succeeds ;  when,  as  if  he  were  a 
Midas,  whatsoever  the  prosperous  merchant 
touches,  is  instantly  gold ;  then  comes  a  time 
when  all  is  adverse, — when  flotillas  sink,  when 
ports  are  closed,  and  each  fine  opening  only 
proves  another  and  a  tantalizing  failure.  And 
so  there  is  ^  a  time  to  keep,  and  a  time  to  cast 
away,"  There  is  a  time  when  in  the  cutting 

*  Wardlaw  in  loco. 


THE   CLOCK   OF  DESTINY.  143 

blast  the  traveller  is  fain  to  wrap  his  cloak 
more  closely  round  him ;  a  time  when  in  the 
torrid  beam  he  is  thankful  to  be  rid  of  it. 
There  is  a  time  when  we  cannot  keep  too  care- 
fully the  scrip  or  satchel  which  contains  the 
provision  for  our  journey;  a  time  when  to 
outstrip  the  pursuing  assassin,  or  to  bribe  the 
red-armed  robber,  we  fling  it  down  without  a 
scruple.  It  was  a  time  to  keep  when  the  sea 
was  smooth,  and  Bome's  ready  market  was  wait- 
ing for  the  corn  of  Egypt ;  but  it  was  a  time 
to  cast  the  wheat  into  the  sea,  when  the  angry 
ocean  clamored  for  the  lives  of  thrice  a  hun- 
dred passengers.*  There  is  "  a  time  to  rend, 
and  a  time  to  sew:"  a  time  when  calamity 
threatens  or  grief  has  come,  and  we  feel  con- 
strained to  rend  our  apparel  and  betoken  our 
inward  woe ;  a  time  when  the  peril  has  with- 
drawn, or  the  fast  is  succeeded  by  a  festival, 
when  it  is  equally  congruous  to  remove  the 
symbols  of  sorrow.  There  is  a  time  to  keep 
silence — a  time  when  we  see  that  our  neigh- 
bor's grief  is  great,  and  we  will  not  sing  songs 

*  Acts  xxvii.  38. 


144  LECTURE  VIII. 


to  a  heavy  heart ; — a  time  when,  in  the  abate- 
ment of  anguish,  a  word  of  sympathy  may 
prove  a  word  in  season  ; — a  time  when  to  re- 
monstrate with  the  transgressor,  would  be  to 
reprove  a  madman,  or,  like  the  pouring  of 
vinegar  on  nitre,  would  be  to  excite  a  fiery  ex- 
plosion against  ourselves ;  but  a  time  will 
come  when,  in  the  dawn  of  repentance  or  the 
sobering  down  of  passion,  he  will  feel  that 
faithful  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend.  "  There 
is  a  time  to  love  and  a  time  to  hate.'7  There 
is  a  period  when,  from  identity  of  pursuit,  or 
from  the  spell  of  some  peculiar  attraction,  a 
friend  is  our  all  in  all,  and  our  idolatrous 
spirits  live  and  move  and  have  their  being  in 
him ;  but  with  riper  years  or  changing  char- 
acter, the  spell  dissolves,  and  we  marvel  at 
ourselves  that  we  could  ever  find  zest  in  in- 
sipidity or  fascination  in  vulgarity.  And  just 
as  individuals  cannot  control  their  hatred  and 
their  love  ;  as  the  soul  must  go  forth  to  what 
is  amiable,  and  revolt  from  what  is  odious, — 
so  nations  cannot  regulate  their  pacifications 
and  their  conflicts.  But  just  at  the  moment 


THE   CLOCK  OF  DESTINY.  145 

when  they  are  pledging  a  perpetual  alliance, 
ail  apple  of  discord  is  thrown  in,  and  to  avenge 
an  insulted  flag,  or  settle  a  disputed  boun- 
dary, or  maintain  the  tottering  balance  of 
power,  wager  of  battle  is  forthwith  joined; 
and  where  early  summer  saw  the  mingled 
tribes  tilting  in  the  tournay,  or  masquerading 
on  the  fields  of  cloth  of  gold,  autumn  sets  on 
unreaped  harvests,  and  blackened  forests,  and 
silent  villages.  And  conversely :  when  the 
clouds  of  battle  frown  on  one  another,  and 
there  is  no  prospect  but  long  and  sanguinary 
campaigns,  a  magazine  explodes,  an  heir-ap- 
parent dies,  or  two  daring  spirits  of  the  op- 
posing hosts  transfer  the  issue  to  the  point  of 
their  single  swords  ;  and  with  the  awful  incu- 
bus so  suddenly  thrown  off,  the  knit  brows  of 
either  nation  relax  into  an  expansive  smile, 
and  the  year  destined  for  mutual  extermina- 
tion is  spent  in  blended  jubilee. 

Such  is  the  fact.     Such  are  the  unquestion- 
able alternations  in  human  affairs;  and  thus 
accurately  do    occasions   and   events   fit  one 
another.     So  much  of  mechanism  does  there 
10 


146  LECTURE  VIIL 


appear  to  be  in  the  on-goings  of  mortality 
and  thus  helpless  seems  man  as  the  maker  of 
his  own  destiny.  Bat  lifting  our  eyes  from 
the  mundane  side  of  it,  what 'shall  we  say  con- 
cerning Him  who  is  t]je  Contriver  and  Con- 
troller of  it  all  ? 

And  should  it  not  be  enough  to  say  that 
God  has  so  arranged  it  ?  To  Him  are  owing 
all  this  variety  and  vicissitude,  and  yet  all  this 
order  and  uniformity.  And  is  it  not  enough 
that  He  so  wills  it  ?  Shall  the  thing  formed 
say  to  Him  who  made  it,  Why  hast  thou  made 
me  thus  ? 

But  not  only  has  God  made  everything,  but 
there  is  a  beauty  in  this  arrangement  where  all 
is  fortuitous  to  us,  but  all  is  fixed  by  Him. 
"He  hath  made  everything  beautiful  in  its 
time ; "  and  that  season  must  be  beautiful  which 
to  infinite  Love  and  Wisdom  seems  the  best. 

Amongst  modern  processes  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  is  the  art  of  taking  sun-pictures.  In- 
stead of  the  artist  copying  the  object,  he  lets 
the  object  copy  itself;  and  if  the  light  were 
profuse  enough  and  properly  adjusted,  the  pic- 


THE   CLOCK  OF   DESTINY.  147 

ture  would  be  as  true  as  noon,  and  as  minute 
as  the  original.  Now,  would  not  it  be  a  cu 
rious  thing  if,  from  a  station  high  enough,  one 
could  take  a  vast  sun-picture  of  this  city, — 
this  island, — this  hemisphere  ? — showing  pre- 
cisely how  at  the  self-same  instant  all  its  inhab- 
itants are  occupied  ? — where  every  one  of  them 
is  this  moment  posted,  and  what  each  one  of 
them  is  doing  ?  And  would  it  not  be  very 
curious  if  along  with  this  there  were  preserved 
a  similar  picture  of  the  self-same  people  and 
their  employments,  at  a  given  instant  ten  or 
twenty  years  ago  ?  But  most  curious  of  all 
would  it  not  be,  if  some  one  could  show  a 
photographic  panorama  of  how  it  will  appear 
ten  or  twenty  years  hereafter? — projecting 
every  person  in  his  proper  place  ? — exhibiting 
the  groups  which  have  meanwhile  gathered 
round  him  or  melted  from  .his  side  ? — the 
changes  which  have  passed  over  himself,  or 
which  he  has  been  the  means  of  inducing  over 
others  ?  But,  my  friends,  there  is  one  reposi- 
tory where  such  pictures  are  preserved, — far 
more  exact  and  vivid  than  the  finest  sun- 


148  LECTURE  VIII. 


painting  ever  drawn ;  there  is  not  a  day  in 
our  world's  past  history  but  its  minutest  image 
lives  in  the  memory  of  God,  and  more  than 
that,  there  is  not  a  day  in  all  the  coming  his- 
tory of  our  world  but  its  portrait  precise  and 
clear  is  already  present  to  the  Divine  fore- 
knowledge. "Known  unto  God  are  all  his 
works  from  the  beginning  of  the  creation;" 
and  so  to  speak,  each  day  that  dawns,  though 
its  dawning  include  an  earthquake,  a  battle, 
or  a  deluge, — each  day  that  dawns,  however 
many  it  surprises,  is  no  surprise  to  Him  who 
sees  the  end  from  the  beginning,  and  who,  in 
each  evolving  incident,  but  sees  the  fulfilment 
of  his  "  determined  counsel," — the  translation 
into  fact  of  one  other  omniscient  picture  of  the 
future. 

And  which  is  best  ?  "A  mighty  maze  and 
all  without  a  plan  ?" — a  world  whose  progress 
takes  even  Providence  by  surprise,  and  whose 
future  stands  before  even  the  Infinite  Mind  in 
no  clearer  outline  than  those  dim  guesses  and 
dusky  foreshadowings  to  which  even  shrewd 
mortals  attain? — or  a  world  of  which  the  sue- 


THE   CLOCK  OF  DESTINY.  149 

cessive  epochs  shall  only  be  the  outworking  of 
a  purpose  so  wise  and  good  from  the  first  that 
it  cannot  be  changed  for  the  better  ? — the  real- 
ization in  persons  and  actions  and  results  of 
that  series  of  prescient  maps  or  plans  whose 
aggregate  will  constitute  the  optimism  of  the 
universe  ? — as  we  read  in  verse  11,  "  God  hath 
set  its  destined  duration  in  the  heart  of  every. 
thing. "  To  every  incident  or  event  He  has 
not  only  given  its  immediate  effect,  but  also  its 
remoter  errand  afar  in  the  future.  Each  such 
incident  or  event  may  be  regarded  as  a  mech- 
anism wound  up  to  travel  so  far  or  accomplish 
so  much,  so  that,  till  its  course  is  finished,  till 
the  beginning  comes  round  to  the  end,  no  man 
can  say  positively  what  was  God's  first  pur- 
pose in  it. 

When  the  young  German  grew  earnest,  you 
would  have  said  there  was  some  hope  that  he 
might  next  be  enlightened ;  but  when  the  ear- 
nest youth  became  a  monk,  you  would  have 
said,  Farewell,  light !  farewell,  all  hope  of  the 
Gospel !  And  yet  Luther's  entombment  in  the 
Erfurth  convent  was  to  be  the  resurrection  of 


150  LECTURE  VIII. 


apostolical  religion.  In  the  heart  of  that  little 
incident  God  had  set  the  Reformation.  When 
a  king  arose  in  Egypt  who  knew  not  Joseph, 
and  who  hated  and  tormented  the  Hebrews, 
you  would  have  said,  There's  an  end  of  the  old 
promise.  This  order  to  exterminate  the  He- 
brew children  will  soon  annihilate  Abraham's 
family.  And  any  Jew  who  had  been  gathered 
to  his  fathers  at  the  time  they  were  slaying  all 
the  male-children,  would  have  been  apt  to  die 
despairing  of  his  nation's  prospects.  And  yet 
that  murderous  edict  was  to  be  the  deliverance 
of  Israel.  In  the  heart  of  that  despot's  decree 
God  had  set  the  exodus.  And  to  the  sublime 
theology  of  Solomon,  the  only  addition  we 
would  make  is  that  Evangelic  supplement : 
"  All  things  work  together  for  good  to  them 
that  love  God ;  to  them  which  are  the  called 
according  to  his  purpose.' '  Their  path  is  thick- 
ly strewn  with  incidents.  Of  these,  some  are 
for  the  present  not  joyous  but  grievous :  never- 
theless in  their  heart  God  hath  set  the  peaceful 
fruits  of  righteousness.  They  are  seeds  with  a 
thorny  husk,  and  they  hurt  the  pilgrim's  naked 


THE   CLOCK  OF  DESTINY..  151 

feet ;  but  when  next  he  passes  that  way,  or 
when  Christiana  with  her  children  follows 
him,  they  have  germinated  into  bright  flowers 
or  cool,  overshadowing  trees.  And  they  will 
not  perish.  The  incidents  along  the  believer's 
path  are  seeds  of  influence,  scattered  by  the 
hand  of  God.  And  sanctification  of  some  sort 
is  the  germ  which  He  has  set  in  the  heart  of 
every  one  of  them.  Nor  can  they  die  till  they 
have  thus  developed.  They  cannot  perish  and 
pass  away  till  the  Christian  has  set  in  his  heart 
the  lesson  which  God  has  set  in  theirs. 

The  works  of  God  are  distinguished  by  op- 
portuneness of  development  and  precision  of  pur- 
pose. There  is  a  season  for  each  of  them,  and 
each  comes  in  its  season.  All  of  them  have  a 
function  to  fulfil,  and  they  fulfil  it.  To  which, 
verse  14,  he  adds  that  they  are  all  of  their  kind 
consummate, — so  perfect  that  no  improvement 
can  be  made,  and,  left  to  themselves,  they  will 
be  perpetual.  "  I  know  that  whatsoever  God 
doeth,  it  shall  be  forever ;  nothing  can  be  put 
to  it,  nor  anything  taken  from  it. "  How  true 
is  this  regarding  God's  greatest  work,  redemp- 


152  LECTURE  VIII. 


tion !  What  more  could  he  have  done  to  make 
it  a  great  salvation  than  what  He  had  already 
done?  or  what  feature  of  the  glorious  plan 
could  we  afford  to  want  ?  And  now  that  He 
has  Himself  pronounced  it  a  "  finished"  work, 
what  is  there  that  man  can  put  to  it  ? — what  is 
there  he  dare  take  from  it  ?  And  in  doing  it 
He  has  done  it  "  forever."  The  merits  of  Im- 
manuel  are  as  mighty  this  evening  as  they 
were  on  the  day  of  Pentecost.  Jesus  is  as  able 
to  save  us  if  we  come  unto  God  by  Him  now, 
as  He  was  to  save  Zaccheus  and  Legion,  and 
Mary  Magdalene.  It  is  into  the  same  bright 
heaven  that  these  merits  and  that  mercy  will 
take  us  as  that  into  which  the  white-robed 
company  have  already  gone,  and  by  a  process 
as  swift  as  that  which  translated  the  dying 
thief,  these  merits  could  transport  any  sinner 
amongst  us,  from  the  verge  of  perdition  to 
Paradise. 

Of  these  theological'  conclusions  the  15th 
verse  is  the  last.  "  That  which  hath  been,  is 
now,  and  that  which  is  to  be  hath  already  been, 
and  God  requireth, — God  resuscitates  and  re- 


THE   CLOCK  OF  DESTINY.  153 

peats  the  past."  There  is  an  uniformity  in  the 
Divine  procedure.  True  to  itself,  amidst  all 
the  diversity  of  incidents  which  chequer  an  in- 
dividual's history,  there  are  certain  great  prin- 
ciples from  which  Infinite  Wisdom  never  devi- 
ates. In  the  natural  world  there  is  always  a 
summer  and  a  winter,  a  seed-time  and  a  har- 
vest, a  day  succeeded  by  the  night.  And  in 
the  moral  world  sin  will  always  be  sorrow; 
principle  will,  in  the  long  run,  always  pfbve 
the  highest  expediency ;  the  sinner  will  always 
sooner  or  later  be  filled  with  the  fruit  of  his 
own  devices ;  and  sooner  or  later  there  will  al- 
ways be  a  reward  to  the  righteous.  And 
amidst  all  the  diversities  of  national  character, 
and  all  the  vicissitudes  of  civil  history,  there 
is  an  essential  identity, — variety  enough  to 
spread  romantic  fascination  over  the  page  of 
Thucydides  or  Eobertsdn,  but  such  ^entity 
that  the  fifteenth  Psalm,  or  a  single  section  of 
this  book,  is  the  abridgment  of  all  history. 
Nor  will  there  be  any  material  change  till  the 
story  is  ended.  Hundreds  of  millions  may  yet 
be  born,  but  they  will  all  repeat  the  past.  A 


154:  LECTURE   VIII. 


few  may  be  more  clever,  and  a  few  may  be 
more  virtuous  than  any  that  have  heretofore 
been ;  and  alas !  a  few  may  be  more  aban- 
doned, more  desperately  wicked.  But  whether 
for  good  or  evil,  they  will  all  be  human, — hu- 
man in  their  goodness,  human  in  their  guilt. 
There  will  not  be  a  Gabriel  among  them  all, 
nor  will  there  be  a  Lucifer ;  and  in .  dealing 
with  that  humanity  the  principles  of  the  Divine 
procedure  will  be  as  uniform  as  the  material 
itself.  With  the  reprobate  it  will  be  calls  and 
refusals,  warnings  and  resistings,  startling  prov- 
idences and  sullen  stupor,  momentary  alarms, 
followed  by  deeper  slumber;  and  then,  "he 
who  being  often  reproved,  hardeneth  his  neck, 
shall  suddenly  be  cut  off,  and  that  without 
remedy ;"  and,  on  the  other  side,  the  converse 
process.  "  Whom  He  did  foreknow  He  also 
did  predestinate.  Moreover,  whom  He  did 
predestinate,  them  He  also  called,  and  whom 
He  called,  them  He  also  justified,  and  whom 
He  justified,  them  He  also  glorified."*  And 
thus,  through  all  the  operations  of  nature,  prov- 

*  Rom.  viii.  29,  30. 


THE  CLOCK  OF  DESTINY.  155 

idence,  and  grace,  "that  which  hath  been,  is 
now,  and  that  which  is  to  be  hath  already  been, 
and  God  repeateth  that  which  is  past." 

One  final  reflection  from  the  whole  passage. 
Some  of  you,  my  hearers,  may  read  the  de- 
scription of  mortality  here  recorded ;  and  you 
may  give  a  vehement  assent  to  its  truth. 
"  Yes,  it  is  all  a  masquerade  of  the  same  ever- 
lasting events  wearing  new  vizors ;  it  is  all 
mutation  without  novelty  and  change  without 
real  variety.  The  world  itself  is  a  gourd  whose 
root  the  worm  is  already  gnawing, — a  palace 
whose  quicksand  basis  the  flood  is  already 
sapping. 

"  What  is  this  passing  scene  ? 

A  peevish  April  day  ! 
A  little  sun,  a  little  rain, 
And  then  night  sweeps  along  the  plain, 

And  all  things  fade  away."* 

So  be  it.     But  if  so,  how  should  it  endear  that 
state  where  all  is  perfection,  and  all  is  perma- 
nence 1     To  everything  "  under  heaven"  there 
*  Kirke  White. 


156  LECTUKE  VIII. 


is  a  fixed  but  a  fleeting  season ;  but  to  those 
who  are  in  heaven  the  moments  are  not  thus 
precarious,  nor  the  seasons  thus  short.  And 
still  better,  there  are  many  of  the  things  for 
which  there  is  a  "time"  on  earth  for  which 
there  is  no  time  there.  To  those  who  are  born 
into  that  better  country  there  is  no  time  to 
"die."  Those  that  are  "planted"  in  God's 
house  on  high,  shall  never  be  "  plucked  up," 
but  shall  flourish  there  forever.  There,  there 
is  nothing  to  hurt  nor  to  destroy,  but  perpet- 
ual "health,"  and  lasting  as  eternity.  There, 
the  walls  of  strong  salvation  shall  never  be 
broken  down.  There,  there  is  no  time  to 
weep  ;  for  sorrow  and  sighing  are  forever  fled 
away:  no  "time  to  mourn ;"  for,  when  they 
left  this  vale  of  tears  the  days  of  their  mourn- 
ing ended.  There,  it  is  all  a  time  of  "  peace," 
and  all  a  time  to  love.  There,  monuments  are 
never  defaced  nor  overthrown ;  for  those  who 
are  pillars  in  the  temple  above,  with  the  new 
name  written  on  them,  shall  go  out  no  more. 
There,  in  the  sanctity  of  the  all-superseding 
relationship,  there  will  be  no  severance ;  but 


THE   CLOCK   OF  DESTINY.  157 

those  friends  of  earth,  who  have  been  joined 
again  in  the  bonds  of  angelhood,  will  never 
need  to  give  the  parting  embraro ;  for  they 
shall  be  ever  with  one  another,  and  ever  with. 
the  Lord. 


LECTUKE   IX. 


HEAD  ECCLES.  m.  16-22;  iv.  1-3. 
"  Behold  1  the  tears  of  the  oppressed  1" 

WHEN  composing  himself  for  a  contented 
life,  a  shriek  of  anguish  reached  the  monarch's 
ear  and  startled  'his  repose.  It  was  a  cry  from 
the  victims  of  tyranny  and  oppression,  and  as 
he  listened  it  grew  more  articulate,  and  it  filled 
him  at  once  with  sympathy  for  others,  and  soli- 
citude for  himself.  "I  saw  the  place  of  judg- 
ment, that  wickedness  was  there  ;  and  the  place 
of  righteousness,  that  iniquity  was  there.  I  con- 
sidered all  the  oppressions  that  are  done  under 
the  sun  :  and  behold  the  tears  of  such  as  were 
oppressed,  and  they  had  no  comforter  ;  and  on 
the  side  of  their  oppressors  there  was  power  ; 


THE   DUNGEON.  159 

but  they  had  no  comforter."  How  is  it  possi- 
ble for  a  prince  to  "  eat  and  drink,  and  enjoy 
the  fruit  of  his  labor,"  whilst  the  wail  of 
evicted  peasants  and  houseless  orphans  is 
louder  than  all  the  music  of  his  orchestra? 
For  a  moment  he  felt  relief  in  recalling  the  fu- 
ture judgment.  "  I  said  in  mine  heart,  God 
will  judge  the  righteous  and  the  wicked." 
But  what  care  they  for  the  judgment?  What 
fear  of  God  is  before  their  eyes  ?  So  brutish 
are  they  that  they  neither  look  forward  nor 
look  up;  but  are  content  with  their  daily 
raven.  Yes,  beasts,  I  half  believe  you.  Your 
grossness  almost  converts  me  to  your  own 
materialism.  I  wish  that  God  would  manifest 
you  to  yourselves,  and  show  you  how  brutish 
you  are  living,  and  how  brute-like  you  will 
die.  Yes,  tyrants  and  oppressors,  you  have 
power  at  present;  but  you  will  fall  like  the 
beasts  that  perish.  You  and  they  will  all  go 
to  one  place, — will  all  resolve  into  promiscuous 
clay ;  for  "  all  are  of  the  dust,  and  all  turn  to 
dust  again."  And  as  for  your  very  soul,  so 
unfeeling,  so  undevout  as  you  have  been,  what 


160  LECTURE   IX. 


is  there  to  mark  your  spirit  more  aspiring, 
more  empyrean,  than  the  downward  and  dis- 
solving spirit  of  the  beast  ?  No ;  there  are 
sharks  in  the  ocean,  and  wolves  in  the  forest, 
and  eagles  in  the  air ;  and  there  are  tyrants  on 
thrones,  and  there  are  tormentors  in  many  a 
cottage.  It  is  painful  to  know  the  misery  they 
are  daily  inflicting,  and,  perhaps,  I  myself  may 
yet  become  their  prey.  But  they  must  not 
spoil  this  transient  life-luxury  ;  they  shall  not 
fill  me  with  vain  compassion  or  fantastic  fears. 
After  all,  there  is  nothing  better  than  to  "  re- 
joice in  one's  own  works,"  and  be,  as  long  as 
he  can,  oblivious  of  surrounding  misery, — reg- 
ulating his  own  movements  and  rejoicing  in 
his  own  resources.  "  For  that  is  his  present 
portion ;  and  who  can  reveal  the  future  ?" 
Said  I  so  ?  Ah !  vain  resolution  and  unavail- 
ing vow !  That  cry  of  tortured  innocence  is 
in  my  ear  again.  I  hear  the  groans  of  the 
victim,  and  I  see  the  tears  of  the  oppressed. 
And  my  heart  grows  sick,  and  I  wish  that  I 
were  dead,  or  rather  that  I  had  never  been 
born  into  a  world  where  all  proceeds  so  sadly. 


THE   DUNGEON.  161 

Very  ghastly  is  the  picture  which  our  world 
presents  when  we  look  at  it  as  the  scene  of  in- 
justice and  cruelty;  and  very  painful  is  the 
view  it  gives  us  of  our  arbitrary  and  oppres- 
sive human  nature.     Could  we  only  see  what 
God  is  daily  seeing,  and   hear  what  God  is 
daily  hearing,  we  would  be  apt  to  join  with 
Solomon  in  praising  the  dead  who  are  already 
dead,  and  who  are  past  our  pain  or  danger. 
For,  even  now,  in  this  noon  of  the  nineteenth 
century,    which,   in   the   ear   Eternal,   is  the 
loudest  of  earth's  voices  ? — which  is  the  loud- 
est in  the  ear  of  History  ?     Is  it  the  psalm  of 
thanksgiving  ?    Is  it  the  harvest  hymn  of  ripe 
fruition  and  cheerful  prospects  ?     Is  it  the  new 
song  of  redeemed  and  regenerate  adoration  ? 
What  is  the  speech  which  day  utters  unto  day, 
— the  watchword  which  one  terrestrial  night 
passes  on  to  another  ?     Alas !  it  is  lamentation 
and  mourning.     It  is  the  music  of  breaking 
hearts ;  it  is  the  noise  of  the  oppressor's  mill- 
stone, whose  grinding  never  waxes  low.    It  is 
the  sighing  of  the  prisoner  whom  the  despot 
has  doomed ;  the  groaning  of  the  victim  whom 
11 


162  LECTURE   IX. 


lucre  has  enslaved,  or  whom  superstition 
means  to  immolate.  That  heavy  plunge  far 
out  on  the  moon-lit  Bosphorus  is  the  close  of 
one  household  tragedy ;  in  that  sudden  shriek 
and  weltering  fall  on  the  Venetian  pavement 
ends  another.  These  cries  of  horror  announce 
the  funeral  of  some  Ashanti  prince,  and  the 
wholesale  slaughter  which  soaks  his  tomb; 
whilst  from  Austrian  dungeons  and  Ural 
mines,  the  groans  of  patriots  confess  the  power 
of  tyrants.  And  even  if  the  modern  surface 
were  silent,  History  cannot  be  deaf  to  the 
voices  underneath.  For,  wheresoever  she 
sets  her  foot,  there  is  a  stifled  sob, — that  cry 
which  nothing  can  deaden  or  keep  down, — 
the  quenchless  cry  of  blood, — blood  like 
Abel's,  blood  like  Stephen's,  blood  like  the 
Saviour's  own ;  and  as  if  the  turf  were  all  one 
altar,  and  every  pore  a  several  tongue,  she 
hears  the  slain  of  centuries  invoking  heaven's 
pity, — Bethlehem's  innocents,  Eoman  martyrs, 
Bartholomew's  victims ;  and  the  ground  begins 
to  quake  as  the  muffled  chorus  waxes  louder : 
"  How  long,  0  Lord,  holy  and  true,  dost  thou 


THE   DUNGEON.  163 

not  avenge  our  blood  on  them  that  dwell  on 
the  earth?"* 

There  are  few  deeds  of  kindness  which  are 
not  sufficiently  notorious, — few  acts  of  munifi- 
cence or  mercy  which  the  world's  right  hand 
has  not  hinted  to  its  left.  But  when  History 
begins  her  sterner  survey, — when  from  Pope- 
doms  and  dynasties,  and  Kepublics  even,  she 
lifts  the  gilt  and  purple  canopy, — what  sights 
of  paltry  vengeance  or  ingenious  cruelty  of- 
fend the  reluctant  gaze !  What  secrets  of  the 
prison-house  do  Bastiles  and  Inquisitions,  San 
Angelos,  and  London  Towers  disclose,  as  the 
daylight  of  inquiry  breaks  in,  and  the  earthen 
floor  gives  up  its  slain,  and  the  stone  wall 
gives  out  its  skeletons !  There  are  depths  of 
the  ocean  to  which  the  plummet  of  the  mar- 
iner, and  the  dredge  of  the  naturalist,  and  the 
exploring  foot  of  the  diver,  have  never  trav- 
elled down ;  but  even  there,  as  she  takes  her 
telescope,  History  sees  the  bones  thick  strewn 
of  the  hapless  men  whom  the  buccaneer,  and 
the  pirate,  and  the  flying  slaver,  have  flung 

*  Rev.  vi.  9-12. 


164  LECTURE   IX. 


quick  into  the  deep :  and  there  are  dim  recesses 
of  old  story  from  which  no  gleams  of  human- 
ity or  tenderness  beam  forth ;  but  even  thence, 
by  the  light  of  Egyptian  brick-kilns,  and 
Druid  bale-fires,  and  Assyrian  conflagrations, 
we  are  reminded  that  the  anguish  of  his  fellow 
has  always  been  the  amusement  of  the  warrior 
and  the  solace  of  the  priest.  So  that,  morally 
regarded,  and  taking  in  the  continuous  survey 
of  all  places  and  all  time,  green  may  be  the 
color  of  the  globe,  but  red  is  the  livery  of 
man.  Babel  may  have  split  the  dialects  of 
earth  into  a  thousand  tongues;  but,  amidst 
them  all,  the  old  vernacular  of  anguish  still 
survives.  And  in  the  music  of  the  spheres  its 
Maker  may  have  given  to  our  world  its  proper 
note ;  but  it  is  a  minor  tune  which  is  ever  sung 
by  its  inhabitants,  by  neighbor  nations,  and  by 
the  several  classes  of  society,  evermore  to  one 
another,  crying,  Woe,  woe,  woe. 

Such  oppressions  Solomon  beheld,  and  more 
especially  judicial  oppressions, — cruelty  in  the 
cloak  of  law  (iii.  16) — and  from  the  contem- 
plation his  mind  sought  refuge  in  the  Supreme 


THE  DUNGEON.  165 

Tribunal.  "I  said  in  mine  heart,  God  shall 
judge  the  righteous  and  the  wicked."  And 
though,  in  the  agitated  state  of  his  spirit,  the 
recollection  did  not  long  abide,  the  fact  is  true 
and  the  consolation  lasting. 

The  Lord  has  a  bottle,  and  into  that  bottle 
He  puts  his  people's  tears,  and  the  tears  of  all 
who  are  oppressed.  When  Joseph  wept  at 
Dothan,  and  the  Jews  at  Babylon,  it  was  not 
the  sand  of  the  desert  nor  the  stream  of  Eu- 
phrates which  intercepted  the  tear ;  but  God's 
bottle.  When  the  poor  man  works  hard,  and, 
coming  for  his  wages,  gets  only  rough  words 
or  coarse  ridicule;  when,  from  the  hapless 
negro,  his  wife  and  children  are  torn  by  some 
vindictive  master,  and  sold  into  a  distant  State ; 
when,  in  her  new  mourning,  the  bewildered 
mother  goes  to  claim  the  scanty  provision  for 
her  babes,  and  finds  that  a  cunning  quirk  has 
left  her  not  only  a  widow,  but  a  pauper, — 
man  may  mock  the  misery,  but  God  regards 
the  crime.  And  whether  it  be  the  scalding 
tear  of  the  Southern  slave,  or  that  which 
freezes  in  the  Siberian  exile's  eye,  God's  bottle 


166  LECTURE   IX. 


has  received  them  all ;  and  when  the  measure 
is  full,  the  tears  of  the  oppressed  burst  in  vials 
of  vengeance  on  the  oppressor's  head. 

So  true  is  this  that,  whenever  it  foretells 
retribution,  poetry  becomes  prophetic : — 

"  Ye  horrid  towers,  the  abode  of  broken  hearts ; 
Ye  dungeons,  and  ye  cages  of  despair, 
That  monarchs  have  supplied  from  age  to  age 
With  music  such  as  suits  their  ears, — 
The  sighs  and  groans  of  miserable  men  ! 
There's  not  an  English  heart  that  would  not  leap 
To  hear  that  ye  were  fallen." 

So  sang  the  bard  of  Olney  in  the  hey-day  of 
the  Bourbons  ;  and  a  few  years  later  the  heart 
of  England  did  leap,  for  the  Bastile  was  fallen. 
And  two  centuries  have  passed  since,  like  a 
Hebrew  seer,  our  Milton  prayed : — 

"  Avenge,  0  Lord,  thy  slaughtered  saints,  whose  bones 
Lie  scattered  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold." 

And  there  is  not  a  succeeding  age  which  has 
not  seen  an  instalment  of  the  vengeance  ;  and 
our  own  is  witnessing  that  fulfilment  which 
"the  triple  tyrant' '  most  abhors, — the  resur- 
rection of  their  ashes  in  Roman  Protestants 
and  Italian  friends  of  freedom. 


THE   DUNGEON.  167 


This  is  a  great  principle,  and  not  to  be  lost 
sight  of — the  weakness  of  oppression,  the  ter- 
rible strength  of  the  oppressed.  I  do  not  al- 
lude to  the  elasticity  of  the  human  heart, 
though  that  is  very  great,  and  is  apt,  sooner 
or  later,  to  heave  off  despotisms  and  every  sort 
of  incubus.  I  do  not  so  much  allude  to  that 
— for  elastic  though  it  is,  it  sometimes  has  been 
crushed.  But  I  allude  to  that  all-inspecting  and 
all-adjusting  Power  which  controls  the  affairs 
of  men.  And  though  Solomon  felt  so  perturbed 
by  the  prosperous  cruelty  he  witnessed ;  though 
he  "  beheld  the  tears  of  such  as  were  oppressed, 
and  they  had  no  comforter ;  for  on  the  side  of 
their  oppressors  there  was  power ;" — had  he 
bent  his  eye  a  little  longer  in  the  direction 
where  it  eventually  rested,  he  would  have 
found  a  Comforter  for  the  oppressed,  and  would 
have  seen  the  impotence  of  the  oppressor. 
For  "God  shall  judge  the  righteous  and  the 
wicked' '  (iii.  17),  or  as  the  close  of  the  book 
more  amply  declares  it,  "  God  shall  bring 
every  work  into  judgment,  with  every  secret 
thing,  whether  it  be  good,  or  whether  it  be 


168  LECTURE   IX 


evil."  And  with  two  worlds  in  which  to  out- 
work the  retribution,  and  with  a  whole  eter- 
nity to  overtake  the  arrears  of  time,  Oh !  how 
tyrants  should  fear  for  God's  judgments;  and 
that  match  which  themselves  have  kindled, 
and  which  is  slowly  creeping  round  to  explode 
their  own  subjacent  mine,  in  what  floods  of  re- 
pentance, if  wise,  would  they  drench  it !  Had 
they  been  wise  enough  to  remember  that  "  on 
the  side  of  the  oppressed"  there  is  always  in- 
finite "Power,"  Pharaoh  would  have  dreaded 
the  Hebrew  infants  more  than  the  Hebrew 
soldiery,  and  Herod  would  have  been  more 
frightened  for  the  babes  of  Bethlehem  than  for 
the  legions  of  Rome.  To  David  the  most 
dreadful  of  foes  would  have  been  the  murder- 
ed Uriah,  and  to  Ahab  the  hosts  of  Syria, 
compared  with  the  corpse  of  Naboth,  need 
have  given  no  uneasiness.  More  than  all  the 
might  of  Britain  had  Napoleon  cause  to  dread 
the  blood  of  D'Enghien,  and,  beyond  all  for- 
eign enemies,  should  modern  nations  tremble 
for  their  slaves :  FOR  ON  THE  SIDE  OF  THE 


THE   DUNGEON.  169 


OPPRESSED  is  OMNIPOTENCE,  AND  THE  MOST 

DEATHLESS   OF   FOES   IS   A   VICTIM! 

My  friends,  the  Gospel  is  the  law  of  liberty. 
Such  an  antagonist  is  it  to  all  that  is  unfair 
and  arbitrary  and  oppressive,  that  it  is  only 
where  there  is  a  reign  of  darkness  that  there 
can  be  a  reign  of  despotism.  Even  as  it  is, 
every  Christian  is  a  freeman.  His  loyalty  to 
God  is  liberty.  It  is  freedom  from  tyrannical 
lusts  and  task-master  passions.  It  is  the  bond 
of  iniquity  broken.  It  is  emancipation  from 
the  thraldom  of"  Satan.  And  if  there  were 
two  countries,  one  of  which  the  Son  of  God 
had  made  free,*  and  the  other  of  which  had 
freed  itself;  in  one  of  which  Christians  were 
ruled  by  an  absolute  but  God-fearing  Dictator, 
and  in  the  other  of  which  the  slaves  of  Satan 
ruled  themselves, — we  know  very  well  where 
we  should  find  the  greater  freedom.  But  still, 
the  tendency  of  the  Gospel  is  to  do  away  the 
pride  and  imperiousness  and  unfairness  which 
are  here  called  "oppression;"  and  if  there 
were  any  land  where  these  two  truths  were 

*  John  viii.  32,  36. 


170  LECTURE   IX. 


practically  realized,  "  God  is  Light,"  and  "  God 
is  love," — that  land  would  be  a  land  of  lib- 
erty. 

Still,  liberty,  or  exemption  from  man's  op- 
pression, is  a  priceless  blessing.  And  it  may 
be  worth  while  to  ask,  What  can  Christians  do 
for  its  culture  and  diffusion  ? 

And,  first  of  all,  yourselves  be  free.  Seek 
freedom  from  fierce  passions  and  dark  preju- 
dices. If  you  are  led  captive  by  the  devil  at 
his  will,  you  are  sure  to  become  an  oppressor. 
In  the  greed  of  gain  you  will  be  apt  to  defraud 
the  hireling  of  his  wages  ;  and  that  is  oppres- 
sion. In  the  fury  of  affronted  pride,  you  will 
be  apt  to  wreak  disproportionate  wrath  on  the 
offender  ;  and  that  also  is  oppression.  In  the 
narrowness  of  sectarianism  you  will  be  ready 
to  punish  men  for  their  convictions  ;  and  such 
persecution  is  oppression.  He  who  governs 
his  family  by  fear  is  an  oppressor.  He  who 
tries  to  accomplish  by  force  what  can  be  ef- 
fected by  reason,  is  an  oppressor.  And  if  he 
would  only  look,  such  a  man  might  see  the 
tears  of  those  whom  he  oppresses.  He  might 


THE   DUNGEON.  171 


see  the  tears  of  the  broked-hearted  supplicant 
who  with  case  unheard  and  with  a  rude  rebuff, 
has  been  driven  from  his  door.  He  might  see 
the  tears  of  the  conscientious  laborer  who  has 
been  deprived  of  bread  and  bereft  the  main- 
tenance for  his  family  by  refusing  Sunday 
work.  He  might  see  the  tears  of  his  de- 
pendant who,  for  attendence  on  some  inter- 
dicted place  of  worship  or  for  adherence  to  a 
sect  proscribed,  has  received  his  warning.  And 
though  a  tear  be  a  little  mirror,  did  he  but  be- 
hold it  for  one  calm  moment,  it  might  reveal 
the  oppressor  to  himself,  and  save  a  multitude 
of  sorrows. 

Beware  of  confounding  liberty  with  license. 
One  of  the  greatest  blessings  in  a  state,  or  in  a 
Christian  Church,  is  good  government;  but 
from  mistaken  notions  of  independence,  it  is 
the  delight  of  some  to  "  speak  evil  of  dig- 
nities." They  carp  and  cavil  at  every  law,  and 
they  set  at  defiance  every  regulation  of  the 
powers  that  be,  and  one  would  almost  fancy 
that  in  their  esteem  rulers  were  ordained  as  a 
target  for  public  rancor,  or  a  safety-valve  for 


172  LECTURE   IX. 


national  spleen.  On  the  other  hand,  an  en- 
lightened Christian  and  patriot  will  always  re- 
member that  a  constitutional  Government, — 
a  Government  where  himself  and  the  rulers 
have  given  mutual  guarantees, — is  too  great  a 
mercy  to  be  lightly  imperilled :  and  he  will 
also  remember  that  where  obedience  is  order, 
anarchy  is  pretty  sure  to  end  in  oppression. 
It  was  a  noble  sentiment,  not  only  for  a  sol- 
dier but  for  a  subject,  "I  like  to  be  at  my  post, 
doing  my  duty ;  indifferent  whether  one  set 
or  another  govern,  provided  they  govern 
well."*  And  like  the  hero  who  originally  ut- 
tered it,  the  man  who  is  thus  magnanimous  in 
obeying  is  likely  to  be  mighty  in  command. 

And,  finally,  cultivate  a  humane  and  gen- 
tle spirit.  Every  master,  every  parent,  every 
public  functionary,  must,  from  time  to  time, 
pronounce  decisions  or  give  commands  which 
cross  some  one's  wishes  or  derange  some  one's 
plans.  But  it  will  go  far  to  propitiate  com- 
pliance when  it  is  seen  that  it  is  not  in  reck- 
lessness, but  for  good  reason ;  or,  perhaps,  from 
*  "  Life  of  General  Sir  John  Moore,"  voL  ii.  p.  14. 


THE   DUNGEON.  173 

a  regretted  necessity  that  the  unwelcome  order 
is  given ;  for  where  there  is  tenderness,  there 
never  can  be  tyranny.  On  the  other  hand, 
wherever  there 'is  thoughtlessness  there  will 
be  tyranny ;  and  wherever  there  is  a  hard  or 
cruel  nature,  it  only  needs  that  power  be 
added  in  order  to  make  a  Nero. 

Here  it  is  that  the  mollifying  religion  of 
Jesus  comes  in  as  the  great  promoter  of  free- 
dom and  the  great  opponent  of  oppression. 
By  infusing  a  benevolent  spirit  into  the  bosom 
of  the  Christian,  it  makes  him  the  natural 
guardian  of  weakness  and  the  natural  friend 
of  innocence.  And  whether  it  be  the  savage 
sportsman  who  gloats  over  the  tears  and 
dying  shudders  of  the  harmless  forest-ranger, 
or  who,  shooting  the  parent-bird  on  her  way 
to  the  eyrie,  leaves  the  callow  nestlings  to  pine 
away  with  slow  hunger  ; — or  the  kidnapper 
who  carries  off  the  struggling  boy  from  his 
mother's  arms,  or  stows  away  in  separate  ships 
bound  for  far-sundered  shores,  the  young  chief- 
tain and  his  bride ; — or  the  Moslem  conqueror 


174  LECTURE   IX. 


who  hews  his  way  from  land  to  land  through 
fields  of  quivering  slain; — or  the 

"  Cowl'd  demons  of  the  inquisitorial  cell, 
The  worse  than  common  fiends  from  heaven  that  fell, 
The  baser,  ranker  sprung,  Autochthones  of  hell ;" — * 

Whichever  be  the  form  of  oppression  which 
nightmares  our  sympathies,  or  the  form  of 
cruelty  which  lacerates  our  feelings,  we  foresee 
an  end  of  it  in  the  final  triumph  of  the  cross 
We  foresee  an  end  of  it  when  the  Saviour  as- 
serts his  rightful  supremacy,  and  subdues  all 
things  under  Him.  "For  the  earnest  expec- 
tation of  the  creature  waiteth  for  the  manifes- 
tation of  the  sons  of  God:"  and  till  then,  in 
every  groan  of  the  creature  we  must  recognize 
a  pledge  and  a  prayer  that  the  Son  of  God 
will  be  manifest  once  more,  and  that  the  disci- 
ples of  Jesus  will  yet  be  numerous  enough  to 
secure  a  reign  of  peace  and  justice  in  this  sin- 
cursed  world.  And  as  we  listen  to  these  inar- 
ticulate groans  of  the  burdened  creation,  we, 
who  are  nature's  interpreters  and  the  world's 

*  Coleridge. 


THE   DUNGEON.  175 


intercessors,  must  translate  them  into  the  pe- 
tition, "  Thy  kingdom  come :  Thy  will  be 
done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven.  Even  so, 
come,  Lord  Jesus." 


LECTURE   X. 

€^  lunrtitartj. 

READ  ECOLES.  v.  1-7. 
"  Keep  thy  foot  when  thou  goest  to  the  house  of  God.'* 

VANITY  of  vanities :  human  occupation,  hu- 
man existence  is  all  fantastic  and  foolish. 
Verily,  each  man  walketh  in  a  vain  show; 
surely  they  are  disquieted  in  vain.  Like  the 
fly-plague  in  Egypt,  every  scene  of  mortal  life 
is  infested  by  frivolity  and  falsehood ;  and  it  is 
hard  to  tell  which  is  the  sorest  vexation, — the 
buzz  and  bewilderment  of  vanities  still  living, 
or  the  noisomeness  of  those  that  are  dead. 
The  cottage  and  the  palace,  the  student's 
chamber  and  the  prince's  banquet-room  all 
teem  with  them,  and  there  is  no  secure  retreat 
from  those  vanities  which  on  the  wing  are  a 
weariness,  and,  in  the  cup  of  enjoyment,  are 


THE  SANCTUARY.  177 

the  poison  of  pleasure.  '  Nay,  we  have  not 
tried  that  temple, — we  have  not  yet  gone  to 
the  house  of  God.  There,  perhaps,  we  shall 
find  a  tranquil  asylum.  There,  if  anywhere,  we 
should  find  a  heaven  on  earth, — a  refuge  from 
the  insincerity  and  unsatisfactoriness  which 
elsewhere  abound.7  Ah,  no ;  the  temple  itself 
is  full  of  vacant  worship.  It  resounds  with  rash 
vows  and  babbling  voices.  It  is  the  house  of 
God,  but  man  has  made  it  a  nest  of  triflers,  a 
fair  of  vanity,  a  den  of  thieves.  Some  come 
to  it  as  reckless  and  irreverent  as  if  they  were 
stepping  into  a  neighbor's  house.  Some  come 
to  it  and  feel  as  if  they  laid  the  Most  High 
under  obligation  because  they  bring  a  sheaf  of 
corn  or  a  pair  of  pigeons ;  whilst  they  never 
listen  to  the  lessons  of  God's  Word,  nor  strive 
after  that  obedience  which  is  better  than  sac- 
rifice. Some  come  and  rattle  over  empty 
forms  of  devotion,  as  if  they  would  be  heard 
because  of  their  much  speaking.  And  some 
come,  and  in  a  fit  of  fervor  utter  vows  which 
they  forget  to  pay;  and  when  reminded  of 
their  promise  by  the  "angel"  of  the  church, — 


178  LECTURE   X. 


the  priest  or  his  messenger, — they  protest  that 
there  must  be  some  mistake  ;  they  repudiate 
the  vow,  and  say  "it  was  an  error." 

A  thoughtless  resorting  to  the  sanctuary; 
inattention  and  indevotion  there ;  and  precipi- 
tancy in  religious  vows  and  promises,  are  still 
as  common  as  in  the  days  of  Solomon.  And 
for  these  evils  the  only  remedy  is  that  which 
he  prescribes, — a  heartfelt  and  abiding  rever- 
ence. "  Fear  thou  God ;"  "  God  is  in  heaven, 
and  thou  upon  earth;"  "Keep  thy  foot  when 
thou  goest  to  the  house  of  God." 

I.  There  is  a  preparation  for  the  sanctuary. 
Not  only  should  there  be  prayer  beforehand 
for  God's  blessing  there,  but  a  studious  effort 
to  concentrate  on  its  services  all  our  faculties. 
In  the  spirit  of  that  significant  Oriental  usage 
which  drops  its  sandals  at  the  palace  door,  the 
devout  worshipper  will  put  off  his  travel-tar- 
nished shoes, — will  try  to  divest  himself  of 
secular  anxieties  and  worldly  projects, — when 
the  place  where  he  stands  is  converted  into  holy 
ground  by  the  words,  "Let  us  worship  God." 

Be  "  ready  to  hear."     We  freely  grant  that 


THE   SANCTUARY.  179 

dull  hearing  is  often  produced  by  dull  speak- 
ing. We  allow  that  there  is  a  great  contrast 
when  the  sameness  of  sermons  is  set  over 
against  the  variety  and  vivacity  of  Scripture. 
And  so  often  is  the  text  injured  by  its  treat- 
ment, that  we  have  often  wished  that  some 
power  could  give  it  back  in  its  original  pun- 
gency, and  divested  of  its  drowsy  associations. 
That  passage  of  the  Word  was  a  burning  lamp, 
till  the  obscuring  interpretation  conveyed  it 
under  a  bushel.  It  was  a  lire,  till  a  non-con- 
ducting intellect  encased  it,  and  made  it  like 
a  furnace  in  felt.  It  was  the  finest  of  the 
wheat,  till  a  husky  understanding  buried  it  in 
chaff.  It  was  "  a  dropping  from  the  honey- 
comb," till  tedious  insipidity  diffused  it  and 
drowned  it  in  its  deluge  of  commonplace. 
And  we  allow  that  much  of  the  impatience 
and  inattention  of  hearers  may  be  owing  to 
the  prolixity  of  preachers.  But  still,  admit- 
ting that  on  the  one  side  there  is  often  the 
fault  of  commonplace  as  well  as  "the  sin  of 
excessive  length,"*  and  conceding  to  every 

*  Bishop  Shirley. 


180  LECTURE    X. 


hearer  the  same  right  to  exert  his  tasteful  and 
intellectual  faculties  when  listening  to  a  ser- 
mon as  when  perusing  a  printed  book ;  you 
will  not  deny  that  on  the  other  side  there  are 
often  a  langour  and  lukewarmness  of  which  the 
cure  must  be  sought  not  so  much  in  the  greater 
power  of  the  preacher  as  in  the  growing  piety 
of  the  hearer.  There  are  two  sorts  of  instruc- 
tion to  which  if  we  do  not  hearken  we  are 
utterly  without  excuse.  One  is  the  direct  in- 
struction of  God's  Word ;  the  other  is  truth 
and  earnestness  embodied  in  a  Christian 
teacher.  But  how  often  are  the  lively  oracles 
read  in  public  worship,  and  a  relief  experi- 
enced when  the  lesson  is  ended!  and  how 
often  does  some  fervent  evangelist  pour  forth 
appeals  full  of  that  rarest  originality, — the 
pathos  of  a  yearning  spirit, — and  find  no  re- 
sponse save  stolid  apathy,  or  a  patronizing 
compliment  to  his  energy  ! 

Half  the  power  of  preaching  lies  in  the  mu- 
tual preparation.  The  minister  must  not  serve 
God  with  that  which  costs  him  nothing :  but 
it  is  not  the  minister  alone  who  should  "  give 


THE   SANCTUARY.  181 


attendance  to  reading,  to  exhortation,  to  doc- 
trine." There  is  a  reciprocal  duty  on  the  part 
of  the  hearer.  He  should  come  with  a  pur- 
pose, and  he  should  come  with  a  prayer.  He 
should  come  hopeful  of  benefit,  and  bestirring 
all  his  faculties,  that  he  may  miss  nothing 
which  is  "  profitable  for  doctrine,  for  reproof, 
for  instruction  in  righteousness."  He  should 
come  with  a  benevolent  prepossession  towards 
his  pastor,  and  with  a  friendly  solicitude  for 
his  fellow-hearers.  And  thus,  as  iron  sharpens 
iron,  so  his  intelligent  countenance  would  ani- 
mate the  speaker;  and,  like  a  Hur  or  an 
Aaron,  his  silent  petitions  would  contribute  to 
the  success  of  the  sermon. 

Nor  can  aught  be  more  fatal  than  a  habit  of 
indolent  hearing.  Like  one  who  glances  into 
a  mirror,  and  sees  disorder  in  his  attire,  or  dust 
on  his  face,  and  says,  "  I  must  attend  to  this," 
but  forthwith  forgets  it,  and  hurries  out  on  his 
journey ;  or  who,  in  the  time  of  plague,  sees 
the  livid  marks  on  his  countenance,  and  says, 
"  I  must  take  advice  for  this,"  and  thinks  no 
more  about  it  till  he  drops  death-stricken  on 


182  LECTURE  X. 

the  pavement :  so  there  are  languid  or  luxu- 
rious listeners  to  the  Word  of  God.  At  the  mo- 
ment, they  say,  Very"  true,  or,  Very  good,  and 
they  resolve  to  take  some  action  ;  but  just  as 
the  mirror  is  not  medicine, — as  even  a  watery 
mirror  cannot  wash  from  the  countenance  the 
specks  which  it  reveals,  if  merely  looked  into, 
— so  a  self-survey  in  the  clearest  sermon  will 
neither  erase  the  blemishes  from  your  charac- 
ter, nor  expel  the  sin-plague  from  your  soul. 
"Wherefore,  my  beloved  brethren,  let  every 
man  be  swift  to  hear.  And,  laying  apart  all 
filthiness  and  superfluity  of  naughtiness,  re- 
ceive with  meekness  the  engrafted  word,  which 
is  able  to  save  your  souls.  But  be  ye  doers 
of  the  word,  and  not  hearers  only,  deceiving 
your  own  selves.  For  if  any  be  a  hearer  of 
the  word  and  not  a  doer,  he  is  like  unto  a  man 
beholding  his  natural  face  in  a  glass :  for  he 
beholdeth  himself,  and  goeth  his  way,  and 
straightway  forgetteth  what  manner  of  man  he 
was.  But  whoso  looketh  into  the  perfect  law 
of  liberty,  and  continueth  therein,'^— like  a 
man  who  seeing  his  bedusted  visage  in  the 


THE   SANCTUARY.  183 


mirror  of  that  polished  flood,  loses  not  a  mo- 
ment but  makes  a  laver  of  his  looking-glass, 
— il  he  being  not  a  forgetful  hearer,  but  a  doer 
of  the  work,  this  man  shall  be  blessed  in  his 
deed  :"*  he  shall  be  saved  by  his  promptitude ; 
or,  if  saved  already,  he  shall  become  a  more 
beautiful  character  by  his  strenuous  self-appli- 
cation. 

2.  In  devotional  exercises  be  intent  and  de- 
liberate, vers.  2,  3.  Like  a  dream  which  is  a 
medley  from  the  waking  day, — which  into  its 
own  warp  of  delirium  weaves  a  shred  from  all 
the  day's  engagements  :  so,  could  a  fool's 
prayer  be  exactly  reproduced,  it  would  be  a 
tissue  of  trifles  intermingled  with  vain  repeti- 
tions. In  all  the  multitude  of  words  it  might 
be  found  that  there  was  not  a  single  sincere 
confession,  not  one  heart-felt  and  heaven-ar- 
resting supplication. 

For  such  vain  repetitions  the  remedy  still  is 

reverence.     "Be  not  rash,"  but  remember  at 

whose  throne  you  are  kneeling;  and  be  not 

verbose,  but  let  your  words  be  few  and  em- 

*  James  i.  19-25. 


184  LECTURE   X. 


phatic,  as  of  one  who  is  favored  with  an  audi- 
ence from  Heaven's  King,  It  is  right  to  have 
stated  seasons  of  worship ;  but  it  were  also  well 
if  with  our  acts  of  devotion  we  could  combine 
some  special  errand  ;  and  it  might  go  far  to 
give  precision  and  urgency  to  our  morning  or 
evening  prayer,  if  for  a  few  moments  before- 
hand we  considered  whether  there  were  any 
sin  to  confess,  any  duty  or  difficulty  demand- 
ing special  grace,  any  friend  or  any  object  for 
which  we  ought  to  intercede.  And  when  the 
emergencies  of  life — some  perplexity  or  sor- 
row, some  deliverance  or  mercy,  at  an  un- 
wonted season  sends  us  to  the  Lord,  without 
any  lengthened  preamble  we  should  give  to 
this  originating  occasion  the  fulness  of  our  feel- 
ings and  the  foremost  place  in  our  petitions. 

3.  In  like  manner,  be  not  rash  with  vows 
and  religious  promises,  verses  4-7.  In  the  old 
•  Levitical  economy  there  was  large  provision 
made  for  spontaneous  vows  and  votive  offer- 
ings ;  and  in  our  own  Christian  time  there  are 
occasions  for  vows  virtual  or  implied.  It  is  a 
vow  or  a  solemn  promise  which  a  pastor 


THE  SANCTUARY.  185 

makes  when  he  assumes  an  office  in  the  Chris- 
tian Church ;  and  it  is  a  virtual  vow  which  ev- 
ery disciple  makes  when  he  becomes  a  mem- 
ber of  that  Church  :  equivalent  to  the  oath  of 
fidelity  which  a  citizen  takes  when  he  be- 
comes a  soldier,  or  a  servant  of  the  Crown. 
And  occasionally,  for  the  carrying  out  of  some 
great  enterprise,  it  may  be  expedient  that  like- 
minded  men  should  join  together,  and  cove- 
nant to  stand  by  one  another  till  the  reform  or 
the  philanthropic  object  is  effected.  But  if 
Christians  make  voluntary  vows  at  all,  it 
should  be  with  clear  warrant  from  the  Word, 
for  purposes  obviously  attainable,  and  for  lim- 
ited periods  of  time.  The  man  who  vows 
to  offer  a  certain  prayer  at  a  given  hour  for 
all  his  remaining  life,  may  find  it  perfectly  con- 
venient for  the  next  six  months,  but  not  for 
the  next  six  years.  The  man  who  vows  to 
pious  uses  half  the  income  of  the  year  may  be 
safe ;  whereas  the  Jephthah  who  rashly  devotes 
contingencies  over  which  he  has  no  control 
may  pierce  himself  through  with  many  sor- 
rows. And  whilst  every  believer  feels  it  his 


186  LECTURE   X. 

reasonable  service  to  present  himself  to  God  a 
living  sacrifice,  those  who  wish  to  walk  in  the 
liberty  of  sonship  will  seek  to  make  their  ded- 
ication, as  a  child  is  devoted  to  its  parents,  not 
so  much  in  the  stringent  precision  of  a  legal 
document,  as  in  the  daily  forthgoings  of  a 
filial  mind. 

The  glory  of  Gospel  worship  consists  in  its 
freedom,  its  simplicity,  and  its  spirituality. 
We  have  boldness  to  enter  into  the  holiest,  by 
the  blood  of  Jesus ;  and  we  are  encouraged 
to  draw  near  with  a  true  heart  in  full  assu- 
rance of  faith.  We  are  not  come  to  a  burning 
mount,  nor  to  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  and  a 
voice  of  terror;  but  we  are  come  " to  Jesus, 
the  Mediator  of  the  new  covenant,  and  to  the 
blood  of  sprinkling,  that  speaketh  better  things 
than  that  of  Abel."  The  Father  seeks  true 
worshippers,  such  as  will  worship  Him  in  spirit 
and  in  truth ;  and  now  that  sacrifice  and  offer- 
ing have  ceased, — and  now  that  burdensome 
observances  have  vanished  away,  praise  and 
prayer  and  almsgiving  are  the  ordinary  obla- 
tions of  the  Christian  Church.  But  surely  the 


THE   SANCTUARY.  187 

freedom  of  our  worship  should  not  abate  from 
its  fervor ;  and  because  it  is  simple,  there  is 
the  more  scope  for  sincerity,  and  the  more 
need  that  it  should  be  the  worship  of  the  heart 
and  soul.  But  do  we  sufficiently  realize  our 
privileged  but  solemn  position  as  worshippers 
of  Him,  to  whom  Seraphim  continually  do  cry, 
"Holy,  holy,  holy  is  the  Lord  of  hosts;  the 
whole  earth  is  full  of  his  glory?"  Do  we  suf- 
ficiently realize  our  blessedness  as  fellow- 
worshippers  with  those  who  sing  on  high, 
"  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  was  slain  ?"  In 
the  house  of  prayer,  do  we  make  worship  our 
study,  and  devotion  our  business?  Do  we 
"labor  mightily  in  prayer,"  and  do  we  "  wake 
up  our  glory  to  sing  and  give  praise?"  Or 
are  not  many  of  us  content  to  be  lookers-on 
at  the  prayers,  and  listeners  to  the  psalmody  ? 
and  instead  of  "a  golden  vial  full  of  odors," 
is  not  many  a  devotional  act  a  vain  oblation,  a 
vapid  form ;  a  tedium  to  ourselves  and  an  of- 
fence to  the  Most  High  ? 

Beloved,  let  us  bestir  ourselves  in  worship. 
Let  us  "make  a  joyful  noise  unto  the  Lord;" 


188  LECTURE   X. 

let  us  "serve  him  with  gladness.7'  Let  us 
sing  his  praises  "  with  grave  and  sweet  mel- 
ody," and  "with  grace  in  our  hearts."  And 
let  us  concentrate  our  thoughts,  and  join  zeal- 
ously in  the  confessions,  the  thanksgivings,  and 
the  supplications  of  the  public  prayers.  And 
thus,  like  the  restful  activity  of  the  temple 
above,  we  shall  find  moments  pass  swiftly 
which  may  now  be  a  weariness ;  and  refreshed 
by  the  sacred  exertion  which  enlisted  our  fac- 
ulties, and  which  enlivened  our  feelings,  we 
shall  retire  sweetly  conscious  that  it  was  "  good 
to  be  there." 

Finally,  my  friends,  amidst  the  assurance  and 
gladness  of  Gospel  worship,  let  us  take  care 
that  we  lose  nothing  of  our  veneration  and 
godly  fear.  "  God  is  greatly  to  be  feared  in 
the  assembly  of  the  saints,  and  to  be  had  in 
reverence  of  all  them  that  are  about  Him." 
"Thou  hast  a  mighty  arm;  strong  is  Thy 
hand,  and  high  is  Thy  right  hand.  Justice  and 
judgment  are  the  habitation  of  Thy  throne ; 
mercy  and  truth  shall  go  before  Thy  face." 
It  is  a  poor  religion  in  which  reverence  is  not 


THE   SANCTUARY.  189 

a  conspicuous  element ;  and,  like  Moses  in  the 
mount,  if  a  man  has  really  communed  with 
God,  there  will  be  something  awful  in  the 
shining  of  his  face.  And  just  as  in  a  far  in- 
ferior matter, — our  relations  to  one  another, — 
just  as  you  never  respect  the  man  who  does 
not  respect  the  noble  spirits  and  exalted  intel- 
lects among  his  fellows;  whilst  you  always 
feel  that  wherever  there  is  admiration  of  the 
great  and  good  there  is  the  germ  of  principle, 
the  possibility  of  eminent  excellence: — so  be 
it  the  homely  peasant  or  the  village  patriarch ; 
be  it  the  philosopher*  always  pausing  before 
he  uttered  the  Name  Supreme,  or  Israel's 
destined  lawgiver,  putting  his  shoes  from  off 
his  feet  on  Horeb's  holy  ground ; — you  always 
feel  that  to  realize  heaven's  majesty  is  itself 
majestic,  and  that  there  is  nothing  in  itself 
more  venerable  than  habitual  veneration. 

*  Boyle 


LECTUKE   XI 


READ  ECCLES.  v.  9-20 ;  vi.  1-9. 
"  He  that  loveth  silver  shall  not  be  satisfied  with  silver. 

THIS  passage  describes  the  vanity  of  riches. 
With  the  enjoyments  of  frugal  industry  it  con- 
trasts the  woes  of  wealth.  Looking  up  from 
that  condition  on  which  Solomon  looked  down, 
it  may  help  to  reconcile  us  to  our  lot,  if  we 
remember  how  the  most  opulent  of  princes 
envied  it. 

1.  In  all  grades  of  society  human  subsist- 
ence is  very  much  the  same.  "  The  profit  of 
the  earth  is  for  all ;  the  king  himself  is  served 
by  the  field."  "What  hath  the  wise  more 
than  the  fool?"  Even  princes  are  not  fed  with 
ambrosia,  nor  do  poets  subsist  on  asphodel. 


THE   EXCHANGE.  191 

Bread  and  water,  the  produce  of  the  flocks  and 
the  herds,  and  a  few  homely  vegetables,  form 
the  staple  of  his  food  who  can  lay  the  globe 
under  tribute  ;  and  these  essentials  of  health- 
ful existence  are  within  the  attainment  of  or- 
dinary industry.  "  The  profit  of  the  earth  is 
for  all." 

2.  When  a  man  begins  to  amass  money,  he 
begins  to  feed  an  appetite  which  nothing  can 
appease,  and  which  its  proper  food  will  only 
render  fiercer.  "  He  that  loveth  silver  shall 
not  be  satisfied  with  silver."  To  greed  there 
may  be  "  increase,"  but  no  increase  can  ever 
be  "abundance."  For,  could  you  change  all 
the  pebbles  on  the  beach  into  minted  money, 
or  conjure  into  bank-notes  all  the  leaves  of 
the  forest ;  nay,  could  you  transmute  the  solid 
earth  into  a  single  lump  of  gold,  and  drop  it 
into  the  gaping  mouth  of  avarice,  it  would 
only  be  a  crumb  of  transient  comfort,  a  cordial 
drop  enabling  it  to  cry  a  little  louder,  Give, 
give.  Therefore  happy  they  who  have  never 
got  enough  to  awaken  the  accumulating  passion, 
and  who,  feeling  that  food  and  raiment  are  the 


192  LECTURE   XI. 


utmost  to  which  they  can  aspire,  are  therewith 
content. 

3.  It  is  another  consideration  which  should 
reconcile  us  to  the  want  of  wealth :  that,  as 
abundance  grows,  so  grow  the  consumers,  and 
of  riches  less  perishable,  the  proprietor  enjoj^s 
no  more  than  the  mere  spectator.  "  "When 
goods  increase,  they  are  increased  that  eat 
them ;  and  what  good  is  there  to  the  owners 
thereof,  saving  the  beholding  of  them  wit! 
their  eyes?"  It  is  so  far  well  that  rank  in 
volves  a  retinue,  and  that  no  man  can  be  so 
selfishly  sumptuous  but  that  his  luxury  gives 
employment  and  subsistence  to  others.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  is  also  well  that  riches  can- 
not retain  in  exclusive  monopoly  the  pleasures 
they  procure.  A  rich  man  buys  a  picture  or 
a  statue,  and  he  is  proud  to  think  that  his 
mansion  is  adorned  with  such  a  famous  master- 
piece. But  a  poor  man  comes  and  looks  at.it, 
and,  because  he  has  the  aesthetic  insight,  in  a 
few  minutes  he  is  conscious  of  more  astonish- 
ment and  pleasure  than  the  dull  proprietor  has 
experienced  in  half  a  century.  Or,  a  rich  man 


THE   EXCHANGE.  193 

lays  out  a  park  or  a  garden,  and,  except  the 
diversion  of  planning  and  remodelling,  he  has 
derived  from  it  little  enjoyment;  but  some 
bright  morning  a  holiday  student  or  a  town- 
pent  tourist  comes,  and  when  he  leaves  he 
carries  with  him  a  freight  of  life-long  recol- 
lections. The  porter  at  the  gates  should  have 
orders  to  intercept  such  appropriating  sight- 
seers ;  for,  though  they  leave  the  canvass  on  the 
walls,  and  the  marble  in  the  gallery, — though 
they  leave  the  flowers  in  the  vases,  and  the 
trees  in  the  forest,  they  have  carried  off  the 
glory  and  the  gladness;  their  bibulous  eyes 
have  drunk  a  delectation,  and  all  their  senses 
have  absorbed  a  joy  for  which  the  owner 
vainly  pays  his  heavy  yearly  ransom. 

4.  Amongst  the  pleasures  of  obscurity,  or 
rather  of  occupation,  the  next  noticed  is  sound 
slumber.  "  The  sleep  of  a  laboring  man  is 
sweet,  whether  he  eat  little  or  much ;  but  the 
abundance  of  the  rich  will  not  suffer  him  to 
sleep."  Sometimes  the  wealthy  would  be  the 
better  for  a  taste  of  poverty ;  it  would  reveal  to 
them  their  privileges.  But  if  the  poor  could 


194  LECTURE   XI. 


get  a  taste  of  opulence,  it  would  reveal  to  them 
strange  luxuries  in  lowliness.  Fevered  with 
late  hours  and  false  excitement,  or  scared  by 
visions  the  righteous  recompense  of  gluttonous 
excess,  or  with  breath  suppressed  and  palpita- 
ting heart  listing  the  fancied  footsteps  of  the 
robber,  grandeur  often  pays  a  nightly  penance 
for  the  triumph  of  the  day.  As  a  king  ex- 
presses it,  who  could  sympathize  with  Solo- 
mon:— 

"  How  many  thousands  of  my  poorest  subjects 
Are  at  this  hour  asleep ! — Sleep,  gentle  sleep  ! 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee, 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down, 
And  steep  my  senses  in  forgetfulness  ! 
Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  thou  in  smoky  cribs, 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee, 
And  hushed  with  buzzing  night-flies  to  thy  slumber, 
Than  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  the  great, 
Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state, 
And  lull'd  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  ? 
Then,  happy,  lowly  clown  ! 
Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown."* 

5.  Wealth  is  often  the  ruin  of  its  possessor. 
It  is  "  kept  for  the  owner  to  his  hurt."  Like 
that  King  of  Cyprus  who  made  himself  so  rich 

*  Henry  IV.,  Second  Part. 


THE   EXCHANGE.  195 

that  he  became  a  tempting  spoil,  and  who, 
rather  than  lose;  his  treasures,  embarked  them 
in  perforated  ships ;  but,  wanting  courage  to 
draw  the  plugs,  ventured  back  to  land  and  lost 
both  his  money  and  his  life  :*  so  a  fortune  is 
a  great  perplexity  to  its  owner,  and  is  no 
defence  in  times  of  danger.  And  very  often, 
by  enabling  him  to  procure  all  that  heart  can 
wish,  it  pierces  him  through  with  many  sor- 
rows. Ministering  to  the  lust  of  the  eye,  the 
lust  of  the  flesh,  and  the  pride  of  life,  mis- 
directed opulence  has  ruined  many  both  in 
soul  and  body. 

6.  Nor  is  it  a  small  vexation  to  have  accumu- 
lated a  fortune,  and  when  expecting  to  trans- 
mit it  to  some  favorite  child,  to  find  it  suddenly 
swept  away.      (Vers.  14-16.)     There  is  now 
the  son,  but  where  is  the  sumptuous  mansion  ? 
Here  is  the  heir,  but  where  is  the  vaunted 
heritage  ? 

7.  Last  of  all,  are  the  infirmity  and  fretful- 
ness  which  are  the  frequent  companions  of 

*  Procul  dubio  hie  non  possedit  divitias,  Bed  a  divitiis 
possessus  eat ;  titulo  rex  insulae,  animo  pecunias  miserabile 
mancipium. —  Valerius  Maximus,  lib.  ix.  cap.  4. 


196  LECTURE 


wealth.  "  All  his  days  also  he  eats  in  dark- 
ness, and  suffers  anxiety  and  peevishness  along 
with  sickness.' '  You  pass  a  stately  mansion, 
and  as  the  powdered  menials  are  closing  the 
shutters  of  the  brilliant  room,  and  you  see  the 
sumptuous  table  spread  and  the  fire-light  flash- 
ing on  vessels  of  gold  and  vessels  of  silver, 
perhaps  no  pang  of  envy  pricks  your  bosom, 
but  a  glow  of  gratulation  for  a  moment  fills  it ; 
Happy  people  who  tread  carpets  so  soft,  and 
who  swim  through  halls  so  splendid!  But, 
some  future  day,  when  the  candles  are  lighted 
and  the  curtains  drawn  in  that  self-same  apart- 
ment, it  is  your  lot  to  be  within ;  and  as  the 
invalid  owner  is  wheeled  to  his  place  at  the 
table,  and  as  dainties  are  handed  round  of 
which  he  dares  not  taste,  and  as  the  guests  in- 
terchange cold  courtesy,  and  all  is  so  stiff  and 
so  common-place,  and  so  heartlessly  grand, — 
your  fancy  cannot  help  flying  off  to  some 
humbler  spot  with  which  you  are  more  familiar, 
and  "where  quiet  with  contentment  makes 
her  home."  Nay,  how  curious  the  contrast, 
could  the  thoughts  be  read  which  sometimes 


THE   EXCHANGE.  *197 

cross  one  another !  That  ragged  urchin  who 
opened  the  common-gate,  and  let  the  silvery 
chariot  through, — oh,  "what  a  phantom  of 
delight"  the  lady  looked  as  in  clouds  of  cushions 
and  on  a  firmament  of  ultramarine  she  floated 
away !  What  a  .golden  house  she  must  have 
come  from,  and  what  a  happy  thing  to  be 
borne  about  from  place  to  place  in  such  a 
carriage,  as  easy  as  a  bird  and  as  brilliant  as  a 
queen  I  But,  little  boy,  that  lady  looked  at 
you.  As  she  passed  she  noticed  your  ruddy 
cheeks,  and  she  envied  you.  That  glittering 
chariot  was  carrying  what  you  do  not  know — a 
broken  heart ;  and  death-stricken  and  world- 
weary,  as  she  looked  at  you,  she  thought,  How 
pleasant  to  have  lived  amongst  the  blossomed 
May-trees  on  this  common's  edge,  and  never 
known  the  falsehoods  of  fashion  and  the  evil 
ways  of  the  world ! 

"We  have  glanced  at  the  sorrows  of  the  rich ; 
some  will  expect  that  we  should  now  descant 
on  the  sinfulness  of  riches.  And  a  certain 
class  of  religionists,  misunderstanding  the  Sa- 
viour's precept,  "Lay  not  up  for  yourselves 


198  LECTURE  XI. 


treasures  on  earth,"  have  spoken  of  money  as 
if  it  were  a  malignant  principle,  and  have  can- 
onized poverty  as  a  Christian  grace.  Fully  car- 
ried out,  this  theory  would  prohibit  the  flagon 
of  oil  and  the  barrel  of  meal,  and  would  re- 
duce us  all  to  the  widow's  cruse  and  handful ; 
for  it  makes  little  difference  whether  the  hoard 
be  in  kind,  or  packed  up  in  the  portable  form 
of  money.  It  would  justify  the  life  of  the  an- 
chorite who  has  no  funded  property  except  the 
roots  in  the  ground  and  the  nuts  on  the  trees  ; 
and  it  would  suit  very  well  such  a  state  of  so- 
ciety as  Israel  spent  in  the  desert,  when  no 
skill  could  secure  a  week's  manna  beforehand, 
and  when  the  same  pair  of  shoes  lasted  forty 
years.  But  as  it  was  not  for  a  world  of  an- 
chorites or  ascetics, — as  it  was  not  for  a  society 
on  which  the  clouds  should  rain  miraculous  • 
supplies  that  the  Saviour  was  legislating, — his 
words  must  have  another  meaning.  And 
what  is  that?  Live  by  faith.  Look  forward: 
look  upward.  Let  nothing  temporal  be  your 
treasure.  Whether  your  abode  be  a  hut  or  a 
castle,  think  only  of  the  Father's  house  as 


THE   EXCHANGE.  199 

your  enduring  mansion.  Whether  your  friends 
be  high  or  low,  coarse  or  refined,  think  only  of 
just  men  made  perfect  as  your  permanent  as- 
sociates. And  whether  your  possessions  be 
great  or  small,  think  only  of  the  joys  at  God's 
right  hand  as  your  eternal  treasure.  Lead  a 
life  disentangled  and  expedite — setting  your 
affections  on  things  above,  and  never  so  cling- 
ing to  the  things  temporal  as  to  lose  the  things 
eternal. 

Translated  into  its  equivalent,  money  just 
means  food  and  clothing,  and  a  salubrious 
dwelling.  It  means  instructive  books,  and  ra- 
tional recreation.  It  means  freedom  from  anx- 
iety, and  leisure  for  personal  improvement. 
It  means  the  education  of  one's  children,  and 
the  power  of  doing  good  to  others.  And  to 
inveigh  against  it,  as  if  it  were  intrinsically  sin- 
ful, is  as  fanatical  as  it  would  be  to  inveigh 
against  the  bread  and  the  raiment,  the  books 
and  the  Bibles,  which  the  money  procures.  It 
would  be  to  stultify  all  those  precepts  which 
tell  us  to  provide  things  honest  in  the  sight  of 
all  men ;  to  do  good  and  to  communicate  ;  to 


200  LECTUKE  XI. 


help  forward  destitute  saints  after  a  godly  sort; 
to  make  friends  of  the  unrighteous  mammon. 

And  as  there  is  nothing  in  the  Bible  to  pro- 
hibit the  acquirement  of  wealth,  there  is  much 
to  guide  us  in  its  right  bestowment.  Using 
but  not  abusing  God's  bounties,  the  Christian 
avoids  both  the  wasteful  and  the  penurious  ex- 
tremes, and  is  neither  a  miser  nor  a  spendthrift. 
With  that  most  elastic  and  enlightened  disci- 
ple, who  knew  so  well  how  to  be  abased  and 
how  to  abound,  the  believer  can  say,  "I  have 
learned  in  whatsoever  state  I  am,  therewith  to 
be  content.  Everywhere  and  in  all  things,  I 
am  instructed,  both  to  be  full  and  to  be  hungry, 
both  to  abound  and  suffer  need.  I  can  do  all 
things  through  Christ  who  strengtheneth  me." 

It  was  a  sultry  day,  and  an  avaricious  old 
man  who  had  hoarded  a  large  amount,  was 
toiling  away  and  wasting  his  little  remaining 
strength,  when  a  heavenly  apparition  stood  be- 
fore him.  "  I  am  Solomon,"  it  said,  with  a 
friendly  voice  ;  "  what  are  you  doing  ?"  "  If 
you  are  Solomon,"  answered  the  old  man, 
"  how  can  you  ask  ?  When  I  was  young  you 


THE   EXCHANGE.  201 

sent  me  to  the  ant,  and  told  me  to  consider  her 
ways ;  and  from  her  I  learned  to  be  industrious 
and  gather  stores."  "You  have  only  half- 
learned  your  lesson,"  replied  the  spirit ;  "  go 
once  more  to  the  ant,  and  learn  to  rest  the  win- 
ter of  your  years  and  enjoy  your  collected 
treaures."*  And  this  lesson  of  moderate  but 
cheerful  spending,  nothing  teaches  so  effec- 
tually as  the  gospel.  Eeminding  the  believer 
that  the  life  is  more  than  meat,  and  the  body 
more  than  raiment,  it  also  suggests  to  him  that 
meat  and  raiment  are  more  than  money ;  and 
by  saving  him  from  the  idolatry  of  wealth,  it 
emboldens  him  to  use  it :  so  that  far  from  feel- 
ing impoverished  when  it  is  converted  into 
some  worthy  equivalent,  he  can  use  with  thank- 
fulness the  gifts  which  his  Heavenly  Father 
sends  him.  Within  the  bounds  of  temperance 
and  forethought,  he  subscribes  to  the  sentiment 
of  our  text,  "It  is  good  and  comely  to  eat  and 
to  drink,  and  to  enjoy  the  good  of  one's  labor; 
for  the  power  to  eat  thereof  and  to  take  his 
portion  is  itself  the  gift  of  God/' 

*  Lessing's  Fables. 


202  LECTURE   XI. 


But  Christianity  teaches  a  lesson  higher  still. 
"  Remembering  the  words  of  our  Lord  Jesus, 
how  he  said,  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to 
receive,"  the  true  disciple  will  value  wealth 
chiefly  as  he  can  spend  it  on  objects  dear  to  his 
dear  Lord.  To  him  money  is  a  talent  and  a 
trust ;  and  he  will  feel  it  a  fine  thing  to  have  a 
fortune,  because  it  enables  him  to  do  some- 
thing notable  for  some  noble  end.  And 
whether,  like  Granville  Sharpe,  he  spends  it 
in  pleading  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  and  the 
friendless :  or,  like  Howard,  devotes  it  to  re- 
claim the  most  depraved  and  degraded;  or, 
like  Simeon,  purchases  advowsons  in  order  to 
appoint  faithful  pastors ;  or,  like  Thomas  Wil- 
son, multiplies  places  of  worship  in  a  crowded 
metropolis ;  there  is  no  fortune  which  brings 
to  its  possessor  such  a  return  of  solid  satisfac- 
tion as  that  which  is  converted  into  Christian 
philanthropy.  Our  houses  tumble  down ;  our 
monuments  decay;  our  equipages  grow  frail 
and  shabby.  But  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  have  a 
fortune,  and  so  be  able  to  give  a  grand  impulse 
to  some  important  cause.  It  is  a  happy  thing 


THE   EXCHANGE.  203 

to  have  wealth  enough  to  set  fairly  afloat  an 
emancipation  movement  or  a  prison  reform. 
It  is  a  noble  thing  to  be  rich  enough  to  pro- 
vide Gospel  ordinances  for  ten  thousand  peo- 
ple in  a  vast  and  world- wielding  capital.  It  is 
a  blessed  thing  to  be  "a  man  to  whom  God 
has  not  only  given  riches  and  wealth,"  but  so 
large  a  heart, — so  beneficent,  so  brotherly,  that 
his  fruition  of  his  fortune  is  as  wide  as  the 
thousands  who  share  it,  and  the  reversion  as 
secure  as  the  heaven  in  which  it  is  treasured. 


LECTURE   XII. 

t  igjits  fur  a  inrk 


"  That  which  hath  been  is  named  already,  and  it  is  known 
what  man  is  :  neither  may  he  contend  with  him  that  is 
mightier  than  he.  Seeing  there  be  many  things  that  in- 
crease vanity  what  is  man  the  better  ?  For  who  knoweth 
what  is  good  for  man  in  this  life,  all  the  days  of  his  vain 
life  which  he  spendeth  as  a  shadow  ?  for  who  can  tell  a 
man  what  shall  be  after  him  under  the  sun?"  —  ECCLES. 
VL  10-12. 

You  have  ascended  a  staircase  which,  inside 
the  solid  rock,  wound  up  from  the  sands  of 
the  sea-shore  to  green  fields  and  beautiful 
gardens.  Somewhat  of  this  sort  is  the  struc- 
ture of  Ecclesiastes.  And  now  we  have  reached 
the  half-way  landing-place,  the  dimmest  and 
coldest  station  in  the  entire  ascent  ;  and  very 
mournful  is  the  strain  in  which  our  moralist 
reviews  his  progress.  "  Fate  is  fixed,  and  man 
is  feeble;  joy  is  but  a  phantom,  and  life  a 


BORROWED   LIGHTS,  ETC.  205 

vapor,  and  darkness  veils  the  future."  Truly, 
we  have  need  to  borrow  lamps  and  suspend 
them  in  this  dark  place.  "We  must  send  for 
some  brighter  minstrel;  for  our  hearts  will 
break  if  we  only  listen  to  the  bard  of  vanity. 

I.  Fate  is  fixed.  "  That  which  hath  been 
or  which  is  to  be,  hath  been  named  already ; 
neither  may  man  contend  with  him  that  is 
mightier  than  he."  All  the  past  was  the  re- 
sult of  a  previous  destiny,  and  so  shall  be  all 
the  future.  Everything  is  fate.  Such  is  the 
sentiment  of  the  third  chapter,  and  such  ap- 
pears to  be  the  import  of  this  passage.  "Since 
fate  bears  sway,  and  everything  must  be  as  it 
is,  why  dost  thou  strive  against  it  ?"* 

Brethren,  is  there  never  such  a  feeling  in 
your  minds?  Do  you  never  feel  as  if  you 
were  the  subjects  of  a  stern  ordination?  Do 
•  you  never  say,  "  I  must  obey  my  destiny  ?  It 
is  of  no  use  contending  with  fate.  Mine  is  an 
unlucky  star,  and  I  can  change  neither  my 
nature  nor  my  nativity ;  so  I  must  abide  my 
time  and  take  my  doom."  Do  you  never  feel 

*  Marcus  Antoninus  xii.  13, 


206  LECTURE  XII. 


as  if  you  were  driven  along  a  path  over  which 
you  have  no  control,  and  as  if  the  power  pro- 
pelling you  were  a  blind  and  inexorable  neces- 
sity? 

Partly  imbibed  from  the  old  classics,  and 
partly  from  a  sound  theology  sullenly  spoken ; 
and  partly  indigenous  to  the  human  heart, 
which,  even  when  it  does  not  believe  in  God 
and  in  Jesus,  cannot  believe  in  chance,  the 
feeling  now  expressed  is  far  from  rare;  and 
just  as  it  seems  to  have  visited  Solomon  in  the 
thoughtful  interludes  of  his  vanity,  so  the 
more  pensive  and  musing  spirits  are  likely  to 
feel  it  most.  As  it  contains  a  certain  admix- 
ture of  truth,  on  a  principle  which  we  have 
frequently  adopted  in  these  lectures,  we  shall 
go  to  a  greater  than  Solomon  in  order  to  get 
that  partial  truth  corrected  and  completed. 

In  the  outset,  it  must  be  conceded  that  the 
Saviour  assumed  a  pre-ordination  in  all  events. 
He  was  constantly  using  such  language  as  this : 
"The  hour  is  come;77  "The  hairs  of  your 
head  are  all  numbered;"  "Your  names  are 
written  in  heaven  5"  "  Many  be  called,  but  few 


BOKROWED  LIGHTS,  ETC.  207 

chosen;"  "No  man  can  come  to  me,  except 
the  Father  draw  him  ;"  "  For  the  elect's  sake, 
whom  he  hath  chosen,  God  hath  shortened  the 
days;"  "To  my  sheep  I  give  eternal  life." 
But  then,  what  sort  of  pre-ordination  was  it 
which  the  Saviour  recognized  ?  Was  it  me- 
chanical, or  moral  ?  Was  it  blind  destiny,  or 
a  wise  decree  ?  Was  it  the  evolution  of  a  dark 
necessity,  or  "  the  determinate  counsel  and 
foreknowledge  of  God?"  Was  it  the  fiat  of 
an  abstract  law,  or  the  will  of  a  living  Person  ? 
In  one  word,  was  it  FATE,  or  was  it  PKOV- 
IDENCE  ? 

Most  comforting  is  it  to  study  this  doctrine 
with  the  great  Prophet  for  our  tutor,  and  so 
to  see  the  propitious  aspect  which  it  bears 
when  rightly  understood.  As  interpreted  by 
"  the  only -begotten  Son  from  the  bosom  of  the 
Father,"  that  pre-arrangement  of  events  which 
the  theologian  calls  predestination,  and  which 
the  philosopher  calls  necessity,  and  which  old 
heathenism  called  fate,  is  nothing  more  than 
the  will  of  the  Father, — the  good  pleasure  of 
that  blessed  and  only  Potentate  whose  omnis- 


208  LECTURE   XII. 


cience  foresaw  all  possibilities,  and  from  out 
of  all  these  possibilities  whose  benevolent 
wisdom  selected  the  best  and  gave  it  being. 
And  he  alone  can  understand  election,  or  exult 
in  Providence,  who  in  right  of  the  Surety  can 
look  up  to  God  as  his  Father,  and  so  take  the 
same  views  of  the  Father's  purposes  as  the  Sa- 
viour took,  equally  revering  the  majestic  fixity 
of  the  firm  decree,  equally  rejoicing  in  its 
wise  foresight  and  paternal  kindness.  "  Fear 
not,  little  flock ;  it  is  your  Father's  GOOD  PLEAS- 
URE to  give  you  the  kingdom."  "I  thank 
Thee,  0  Father,  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth,  be- 
cause thou  hast  hid  these  things  from  the  wise 
and  prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them  unto 
babes.  Even  so,  Father,  for  so  it  seemed  good 
in  thy  sight"  "  The  hour  is  come,  that  the  Son 
of  man  should  be  glorified.  Father,  glorify 
thy  name."  And  just  as  you  might  imagine 
some  poor  wandered  child  waking  up  amidst 
the  din  and  tumult  of  a  factory,  and  cowering 
half-delinquent,  half-stupified,  into  his  dusky 
corner, — afraid  lest  this  thunderous  enginery 
rush  in  on  him  and  rend  him  to  pieces,  and 


BOKBOWED   LIGHTS,  ETC.  209 

still  more  paralyzed  when  he  perceives  in  its 
movements  the  indications  of  an  awful  order, 
— the  whole  spinning  and  whirling,  clashing 
and  clanking,  in  obedience  to  a  mysterious  and 
invisible  power.  But  whilst  he  is  watching 
from  his  hiding-place,  another  child  comes  in, 
of  an  age  about  his  own ;  and  this  other  walks 
fearlessly  forward,  for  his  father  leads  him  by 
the  hand,  and  shows  him  the  beautiful  fabrics 
which  are  flowing  forth  from  all  the  noisy 
mechanism ;  or  if  there  be  some  point  in  their 
progress  where  there  is  risk  to  his  child  from 
the  flashing  wheels,  he  speaks  a  word  and  that 
portion  stands  still ;  for  his  father  is  owner  of 
it  all.  So  to  the  poor  waif  of  mortality,  the 
outcast  child  of  apostate  Adam, — to  the  god- 
lesss  pirit  waking  up  in  this  world  of  rapid  rev- 
olution and  tumultuous  resonance,  there  is  an 
awful  aspect  of  fatality  on  the  one  side  and  a 
crushing  sense  of  impotence  on  the  other.  So 
selfish  is  man  and  so  cruel  is  the  world ;  so 
strange  are  life's  reverses,  and  so  irresistible 
is  the  progress  of  events,  that  he  momentarily 
expects  to  be  annihilated  by  the  strong  and  re- 


210  LECTURE  XII. 

morseless  mechanism ; — when,  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  turmoil  he  perceives  one  of  like  pas- 
sions with  himself  walking  calmly  up  and 
down,  and  fearing  no  evil,  for  his  Father  is 
with  him,  and  that  Father  is  contriver  and  con- 
troller of  the  whole.  So,  my  friends,  it  de- 
pends on  our  point  of  view  whether  the  fixed 
succession  of  events  shall  appear  as  a  sublime 
arrangement  or  a  dire  necessity.  It  depends 
on  whether  we  recognize  ourselves  as  found- 
lings in  the  universe,  or  the  children  of  God 
by  faith  in  Jesus  Christ, — it  depends  on  this, 
whether  in  the  mighty  maze  we  discern  the 
decrees  of  fate,  or  the  presiding  wisdom  of  our 
heavenly  Father.  It  depends  on  whether  we 
are  still  skulking  in  the  obscure  corner,  aliens, 
intruders,  outlaws ;  or  walking  at  liberty,  with 
filial  spirit  and  filial  security, — whether  we 
shall  be  more  panic-stricken  by  the  power  of 
the  mechanism,  or  more  enchanted  with  its 
beautiful  products.  It  depends  on  whether  we 
are  spectators  or  sons,  whether  our  emotion 
towards  the  Divine  foreknowledge  and  sove- 


BOKROWED   LIGHTS,  ETC.  211 

reignty •  be,  "  0  fate,  I  fear  thee,"  or,  "  0  Fa- 
ther, I  thank  thee." 

II.  Man  is  feeble.  "  It  is  known  what  man 
is;  neither  may  he  contend  with  him  that  is 
mightier  than  he."  And.  Christless  humanity 
is  a  very  feeble  thing.  His  bodily  frame  is 
feeble.  A  punctured  nerve  or  a  particle  of 
sand  will  sometimes  occasion  it  exquisite  an- 
guish; a  grape-seed  or  an  insect's  sting  has 
been  known  to  consign  it  to  dissolution.  And 
man's  intellect  is  feeble;  or,  rather,  it  is  a 
strange  mixture  of  strength  and  weakness : — 

"  Go,  wondrous  creature !  mount  where  science  guides ; 
Go,  measure  earth,  weigh  air,  and  state  the  tides ; 
Instruct  the  planets  in  what  orbs  to  run, 
Correct  old  Time,  and  regulate  the  sun  ; 
Go,  soar  with  Plato  to  the  empyreal  sphere, 
To  the  first  good,  first  perfect,  and  first  fair ; 
Go,  teach  Eternal  Wisdom  how  to  rule — 
Then  drop  into  thyself,  and  be  a  fool  1  "* 

Nevertheless,  redeemed  and  regenerate  hu- 
manity is  only  a  little  lower  than  the  angels. 
Its  materialism  was  worn  by  the  Son  of  God 
Incarnate,  and  as  He  wore  it,  it  was  found  a 

*  Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man,"  Ep.  ii. 


212  LECTURE   XII. 


shrine  in  which  perfect  goodness  could  exist, 
and  one  from  which  not  a  few  of  its  endearing 
rays  conld  emanate ;  and,  celestialized,  that 
corporeity  will  find  a  place  in  the  new  heavens 
and  new  earth  where  righteousness  dwelleth. 
And,  sublime  and  sanctified,  man's  intellect  is 
fit  for  the  noblest  themes  in  the  loftiest  society. 
Not  to  speak  of  Moses'  meek  sagacity,  and 
David's  lyric  raptures,  and  Solomon's  startling 
intuitions ;  there  are  sons  of  Adam  who,  here, 
on  earth,  possessed  no  knowledge  beyond  sim- 
ple apprehension  or  idiot  ignorance,  and  who 
are  now  the  immediate  pupils  of  the  Bright 
and  Morning  Star,  and  fellow-students  with 
the  seraphim.  And  though  it  be  madness  in 
man  to  contend  with  his  Maker,  it  is  man's 
prerogative  that  his  very  weakness  is  a  pur- 
chase on  Omnipotence.  Insane  when  contend- 
ing with  One  that  is  mightier,  he  is  irresistible 
when  in  faith  and  coincidence  of  holy  affection 
he  fights  the  battles  of  the  Most  High,  and 
when  by  prayer  and  uplooking  affiance,  he 
imports  into  his  own  imbecility  the  might  of 
Jehovah.  It  is  known  what  man  is,  and  what 


BORROWED  LIGHTS,  ETC.  213 

mere  man  can  do.  A  Samson  can  rend  the 
ravening  lion,  and  return  to  find  his  bleached 
ribs  a  hive  of  honey.  A  Goliath  can  hold  at 
bay  the  embattled  host,  and  with  his  beam-like 
lance  beat  back  a  charging  company.  David's 
three  champions  can  hew  their  way  through 
the  host  of  the  Philistines,  and  from  the  well 
of  Bethlehem  bear  triumphant  to  the  camp 
their  costly  flask  of  water.  And  thus,  the 
potsherds  of  the  earth  can  strive  with  the  pot- 
sherds of  the  earth,  and  a  strong  one  destroy 
the  weaker.  But  it  is  hardly  known  yet  what 
man  can  do  when  his  Maker  contends  for  him 
and  fights  through  him ;  although  the  tempta- 
tions which  Joseph  and  Daniel  have  van- 
quished, and  found  their  demolished  strength 
replaced  by  sweetness;  the  terror  of  God 
which  a  solitary  Elijah  or  John  Baptist  has 
stricken  into  an  idolatrous  or  hypocritical 
generation ;  the  water  of  life  which  Paul  and 
Silas  and  Timothy  have  carried  into  the  midst 
of  a  dying  world  through  pain  and  peril, 
through  bitter  mockings  and  daily  deaths, — 
although  these  moral  triumphs  and  religious 


214  LECTUKE  XII. 


trophies  are  earnests  and  examples  of  what 
may  be  done  by  man  when,  through  Christ 
strengthening,  man  is  rendered  superhuman. 

III.  Every  joy  is  futile.  It  is  only  fresh 
food  for  the  life- wasting  vanity ;  more  fat  kine 
for  the  lean  ones  to  devour  and  convert  into 
tenuity ;  more  must  poured  into  the  working 
vat  in  order  to  acidify  and  augment  the  brew- 
age  of  vexation.  "  Seeing  there  be  many 
things  that  increase  vanity,  what  is  man  the 
better  ?"  What  the  better  is  man  of  that  rep- 
utation which  only  makes  him  more  envied  ? 
What  the  better  is  he  of  that  wealth  which 
only  makes  him  more  obnoxious  to  plots  and 
dangers  ?  What  the  better  of  that  philosophy 
which,  like  a  taper  on  the  face  of  a  midnight 
cliff,  only  shows  how  beetling  is  the  brow 
above  him,  and  how  profound  the  gulf  below, 
whilst  he  himself  is  crawling  a  wingless  reptile 
on  the  ever-narrowing  ledge  ?  What  the  bet- 
ter is  acquirement,  when,  after  all,  man's  intel- 
lect, man's  conscience,  man's  affections  must 
remain  a  vast  and  unappeasable  vacuity  ? 

Here  it  is  that  the  other  Eoyal  Preacher 


BOKROWED   LIGHTS,  ETC.  215 

comes  forward,  and,  instead  of  echoing,  an- 
swers the  demand  of  Solomon.  Jesus  says, 
"  I  am  the  bread  of  life :  he  that  cometh  to  me 
shall  never  hunger,  and  he  that  believeth  on 
me  shall  never  thirst."  Jesus  is  God  manifest, 
and,  therefore,  Jesus  known  is  satisfaction  to 
the  famished  intellect.  He  is  God  reconciled, 
and,  therefore,  Jesus  trusted  is  comfort  to  the 
aching  conscience.  He  is  God  communicated, 
and,  therefore,  Jesus  loved  is  a  continual  feast 
to  the  hungry  affections.  Incarnate,  atoning, 
interceding,  Immanuel  is  the  bread  of  life, — 
the  only  sustenance  and  satisfaction  of  the  im- 
mortal soul.  And,  0  my  hearers,  if  any  of 
you  are  hungry,  make  trial  of  this  food.  If 
your  conscience  hungers,  feed  on  some  faith- 
ful saying  till  you  find  it  as  sweet  as  it  is  solid, 
as  refreshing  as  'tis  true.  "God  loved  the 
world  and  gave  his  Son."  "  Christ  Jesus  came 
into  the  world  to  save  sinners/7  "His  blood 
cleanseth  from  all  sin."  "Him  that  cometh 
unto  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out."  "  Behold 
the  Lamb  of  God!"  Dwell  on  such  sayings 
till  they  have  sunk  into  your  spirit's  core  and 


216  LECTURE  XII. 


spread  through  your  consenting  nature  in  real- 
izations glad  and  blissful.  Does  your  under- 
standing hunger?  Do  you  pine  for  some 
knowledge  absolute,  conclusive,  positive  ? 
Then  no  man  knoweth  the  Father  save  the 
Son,  and  he  to  whom  the  Son  shall  reveal 
him.  Look  to  Jesus.  Study  the  Word  made 
flesh.  In  Him  dwells  all  the  fulness  of  the 
Godhead  bodily.  In  Him,  the  express  image 
of  the  Father,  behold  at  once  your  Teacher 
and  your  task ;  for  Jesus  is  the  true  Theology. 
Sit  at  the  Saviour's  feet,  and  listen  to  his 
words ;  for  God  is  all  which  Jesus  says.  Look 
into  his  countenance,  for  God  is  all  which 
Jesus  is.  And  do  your  affections  hunger? 
From  the  festivals  of  earth, — from  its  feasts  of 
friendship  even,  do  you  sometimes  retire  mor- 
tified and  almost  misanthropic?  or,  like  the 
reveller  glancing  up  at  the  thread-suspended 
sword,  or  gazing  at  the  fulgorous  finger  as  it 
flames  along  the  wall,  have  you  misgivings  in 
the  unhallowed  mercies  which  you  enjoy  aloof 
from  God,  or  in  the  place  of  God,  or  beneath 
the  wrath  of  God  ?  Then,  through  the  Medi- 


BORROWED   LIGHTS,  ETC.  217 

ator  be  reconciled  to  God.  In  Christ  accept 
Him  as  your  Friend  and  Father.  Enter  into 
his  peace,  and  learn  to  delight  in  his  perfec- 
tions; and  thus,  whilst  sinful  pleasures  lose 
their  relish,  lawful  joys  will  acquire  a  flavor 
of  sacredness,  and  the  zest  is  a  sweet  security. 
Or  should  the  cistern  break  and  the  creature 
fail,  the  infinite  joy  is  Jehovah,  and  the  soul 
cannot  wither  whose  roots  are  replenished  from 
that  fountain  unfailing. 

IV.  Life  is  fleeting.  It  is  a  "  vain  life,"  and 
all  its  days  a  "shadow."  A  shadow  is  the 
nearest  thing  to  a  nullity.  It  is  seldom  no- 
ticed. Even  "  a  vapor"  in  the  firmament, — a 
cloud  may  catch  the  eye,  and  in  watching  its 
changing  hues  or  figure  you  may  find  the 
amusement  of  a  moment;  arid  if  that  cloud 
condense  into  a  shower,  a  few  fields  may  thank 
it  for  its  timely  refreshment.  But  a  shadow, — 
the  shadow  of  a  vapor !  who  notes  it  ?  who 
records  it?  As  it  sails  along  the  mountain 
side,  with  morning  bright  behind  it,  and  sum- 
mer noon  before  it,  the  daisy  does  not  care  to 
wink,  nor  does  the  hare-bell  droop,  nor  does 


218  LECTURE   XII. 


the  bee  suspend  its  labors;  and  at  eve,  the 
shepherd-boy  cross-questioned  cannot  tell  if 
any  cloud  there  were.  And  the  case  is  rare 
where  some  panting  traveller  sighs,  "Return, 
O  shadow!  Kind  vapor,  I  wish  you  would 
not  vanish  1" 

But  Jesus  Christ  hath  brought  immortality 
to  light.  This  fleeting  life  He  has  rendered 
important  as  "  a  shadow  from  the  rock  eter- 
nity." lt  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life  : 
whosoever  liveth  and  belie veth  in  me  shall 
never  die."  In  his  own  teaching,  and  in  the 
teaching  of  his  apostles,  the  present  existence 
acquires  a  fearful  consequence  as  the  germ,  or 
rather  as  the  outset  of  one  which  is  never-end* 
ing.  To  their  view,  this  existence  is  both 
everything  and  nothing.  As  the  commence' 
ment  of  eternity,  and  as  giving  its  complexion 
to  all  the  changeless  future,  it  is  everything ; 
as  the  competitor  of  that  eternity  or  the  coun- 
terpoise to  its  joys  and  sorrows  it  is  nothing. 
"  What  shall  it  profit  a  man,  if  he  shall  gain 
the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul?" 
"  Fear  not  them  who  kill  the  body,  but  are  not 


BORROWED   LIGHTS,  ETC.  219 


able  to  kill  the  soul :  but  rather  fear  Him  who 
is  able  to  destroy  both  soul  and  body  in  hell." 
"  Our  light  affliction,  which  is  but  for  a  mo- 
ment, worketh  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and 
eternal  weight  of  glory ;  while  we  look  not  at 
the  things  which  are  seen,  but  at  the  things 
which  are  not  seen:  for  the  things  which  are 
seen  are  temporal ;  but  the  things  which  are 
not  seen  are  eternal."  "  How  vain,  then,  are 
men,  who,  seeing  life  so  short,  endeavor  to  live 
long  and  not  to  live  well!"*  How  vain  are 
men  who,  pronouncing  the  present  life  a 
shadow,  neglect  to  secure  the  everlasting  sub- 
stance ! 

V.  The  future  is  a  dark  enigma.  "Who 
can  tell  a  man  what  shall  be  after  him  under 
the  sun?" 

Says  Dr.  Stewart  of  Moulin,  "  I  remember 
an  old,  pious,  very  recluse  minister,  whom  I 
used  to  meet  once  a-year.  He  scarcely  ever 
looked  at  a  newspaper.  When  others  were 
talking  about  the  French  Eevolution,  he 
showed  no  concern  or  curiosity  about  it.  He 

*  Jeremy  Taylor's  "Works,"  vol.  iii.  p.  418. 


220  LECTUKE   XII. 


said  tie  knew  from  the  Bible  Jiow  it  would  all 
end,  better  than  the  most  sagacious  politician, 
— that  the  Lord  reigns, — that  the  earth  will  be 
filled  with  his  glory, — that  the  Gospel  will  be 
preached  to  all  nations, — and  that  all  subor- 
dinate events  are  working  out  these  great 
ends.  This  was  enough  for  him,  and  he  gave 
himself  no  concern  about  the  news  or  events 
of  the  day,  only  saying,  It  shall  be  well  with 
the  righteous."*  And  although  no  man  can 
tell  the  conqueror  how  it  shall  be  with  the 
dynasty  he  has  founded ;  nor  the  poet  how  it 
shall  be  with  the  epic  he  has  published ;  nor 
the  capitalist  how  it  shall  be  with  the  fortune 
he  has  accumulated ;  it  is  easy  to  tell  the  phil- 
anthropist and  the  Christian  how  it  shall  be, 
not  only  with  himself,  but  with  the  cause  he  is 
so  eagerly  promoting.  And  without  quench- 
ing curiosity,  it  may  quiet  all  anxiety  to  know 
that  when  he  himself  is  gone  to  be  forever 
with  the  Lord,  Christ's  kingdom  will  be 
spreading  in  the  world.  "  Then  said  I,  0  my 
Lord,  what  shall  be  the  end  of  these  things  ? 
*  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Stewart,  p.  336. 


BORROWED   LIGHTS,  ETC.  221 

And  he  said,  Go  thy  way,  Daniel;  for  the 
words  are  closed  up  and  sealed.  Go  thou  thy 
way  till  the  end  be,  for  thou  shalt  rest,  and 
stand  in  thy  lot  at  the  end  of  the  daya." 


LECTURE  XIII. 


"A  good  name  is  better  than  precious  ointment." — 
EOOLES.  vu.  1. 


AT  this  point  we  come  out  into  a  purer  at- 
mosphere ;  we  emerge  upon  a  higher  platform ; 
and,  if  we  have  not  day-spring,  we  have  the 
harbingers  of  dawn. 

Hitherto  the  book  has  chiefly  contained  the 
diagnosis  of  the  great  disease.  Eepeating  the 
successive  symptoms  as  they  developed  in  him- 
self, the  Royal  patient  has  passed  before  us  in 
every  variety  of  mood,  from  the  sleepy  col- 
lapse of  one  who  has  eaten  the  fabled  lotus,  up 
to  the  frantic  consciousness  of  a  Hercules  tear- 
ing his  limbs  as  he  tries  to  rend  off  his  robe  of 
fiery  poison.  He  now  comes  to  the  cure. 
He  enumerates  the  prescriptions  which  he 


A   GOOD  NAME.  223 

tried,  and  mentions  their  results.  Most  of 
them  afforded  some  relief.  They  made  him 
"better.7'  But  they  were  only  palliatives. 
There  was  something  which  always  impaired 
their  efficacy ;  and  it  is  only  at  the  very  end 
that  he  announces  the  great  panacea,  and 
gives  us  what  is  better  than  a  thousand  pallia- 
tives,— an  unfailing  specific. 

The  recipes  contained  in  this  and  the  subse- 
quent chapters  availed  to  mitigate  Solomon's 
vexation,  but  they  failed  to  cure  it.  They  mit- 
igated it,  because  each  of  them  was  one  ingre- 
dient of  the  great  specific  ;  they  failed  to  cure 
it,  because  they  were  only  isolated  ingredients. 
Each  maxim  of  virtue  is  conducive  to  happy 
living ;  but  the  love  o£  God  is  the  vitality  of 
all  virtue ;  and,  in  order  to  secure  its  full  prac- 
tical value,  we  must  supply  to  each  separate 
maxim  the  great  animating  motive.  A  rule  of 
conduct  which  is  "  dead,  so  long  as  it  abideth 
alone, "  may  be  very  helpful  when  quickened, 
and  when  occupying  its  appropriate  place  in  a 
system  of  evangelical  ethics. 

Solomon's  first  beatitude  is  an  honorable  rep- 


224  LECTURE  XIII. 


utation.  He  knew  what  it  had  been  to  possess 
it ;  and  he  knew  what  it  was  to  lose  it.  And 
here  he  says,  Happy  is  the  possessor  of  an  un- 
tarnished character  !  so  happy  that  he  cannot 
die  too  soon  !  "A  good  name  is  better  than 
precious  ointment ;  and  (to  its  owner)  the  day 
of  death  is  better  than  the  day  of  birth/' 

A  name  truly  good  is  the  aroma  from  vir- 
tuous character.  It  is  a  spontaneous  emana- 
tion from  genuine  excellence.  It  is  a  reputa- 
tion for  whatsoever  things  are  honest  and 
lovely,  and  of  good  report.  It  is  such  a  name 
as  is  not  only  remembered  on  earth  but  written 
in  heaven.  The  names  of  Abel  and  Enoch 
and  Noah  are  good  names,  and  so  are  all  which 
have  been  transmitted  in  that  "  little  book  of 
martyrs,"  the  eleventh  of  Hebrews:  those 
"  elders"  who  not  only  obtained  the  Church's 
good  report,  through  faith,  but  who  had  this 
testimony,  athat  they  pleased  God."  But  in 
order  to  a  good  name  something  else  is  needed 
besides  a  good  nature.  Flowers  have  bloomed 
In  the  desert  which  were  only  viewed  by  God 
and  the  angels ;  and  there  have  been  solitary 


A  GOOD  NAME.  225 

saints  whose  holiness  was  only  recognized  by 
Him  who  created  it,  and  by  just  men  made 
perfect.  And  so  wicked  is  this  world  that 
much  excellence  may  have  vanished  from  its 
surface  unknown  and  unsuspected.  The  In- 
quisition has,  no  doubt,  extinguished  maliy 
an  Antipas,  and  in  the  Sodoms  of  our  earth 
many  a  Lot  has  vexed  his  soul  and  died  with 
no  Pentateuch  to  preserve  his  memory.  To 
secure  a  reputation  there  must  not  only  be  the 
genuine  excellence  but  the  genial  atmosphere. 
There  must  be  some  good  men  to  observe  and 
appreciate  the  goodness  while  it  lived,  and 
others  to  foster  its  memory  when  gone.  But 
should  both  combine, — the  worth  and  the  appre- 
ciation of  worth, — the  resulting  good  name  is 
better  than  precious  ointment.  Earer  and 
more  costly,  it  is  also  one  of  the  most  salutary 
influences  that  can  penetrate  society.  For, 
just  as  a  box  of  spikenard  is  not  only  valuable 
to  its  possessor,  but  pre-eminently  precious  in 
its  diffusion ;  so,  when  a  name  is  really  good, 
it  is  of  unspeakable  service  to  all  who  are 
capable  of  feeling  its  exquisite  inspiration* 
15 


226  LECTURE   XIII. 

And  should  the  Spirit  of  God  so  replenish  a 
man  with  his  gifts  and  graces,  as  to  render  his 
name  thus  wholesome,  better  than  the  day  of 
his  birth  will  be  the  day  of  his  death  ;  for  at 
death  the  box  is  broken  and  the  sweet  savor 
spreads  abroad.  There  is  an  end  of  the  envy 
and  sectarianism  and  jealousy,  the  detraction 
and  the  calumny,  which  often  environ  good- 
ness when  living ;  and  now  that  the  stopper 
of  prejudice  is  removed,  the  world  fills  with 
the  odor  of  the  ointment,  and  thousands  grow 
stronger  and  more  lifesome  for  the  good  name 
of  one.  Better  in  this  respect,  better  than 
their  birth-day  was  the  dying  day  of  Henry 
Martyn  and  Robert  M'Cheyne ;  for  the  secret 
of  their  hidden  life  was  then  revealed,  and, 
mingled  as  it  is  with  the  name  of  Jesus,  the 
Church  will  never  lose  the  perfume.  And  in 
this  respect  better  than  their  birthday  was  the 
dying-day  of  Dr.  Arnold  and  Sir  Fowell  Bux- 
ton  ;  for  men  could  then  forget  the  offence  of 
controversy  and  the  irritation  of  party  politics, 
and  could  surrender  to  the  undiluted  charm 
of  healthy  piety  and  heroic  Christianity.  And 


A  GOOD  NAME.  227 

better,  thus  regarded,  was  the  dying-day  of 
Stephen  and  James  and  Paul ;  for  every  dis- 
ciple could  then  forget  the  infirmities  by  which 
some  had  been  annoyed  and  the  faithfulness  by 
which  others  had  been  offended,  and  could 
treasure  up  that  best  of  a  good  man's  relics, 
the  memory  of  a  devoted  life, — the  sweet 
odour  of  an  unquestioned  sanctity. 

Do  not  despise  a  good  name.  There  is  no 
better  heritage  that  a  father  can  bequeath  to 
his  children,  and  there  are  few  influences  on 
society  more  wholesome  than  the  fame  of  its 
worthies.  The  names  of  Luther  and  Knox,  of 
Hampden  and  Washington,  of  Schwartz  and 
Eliot,  are  still  doing  good  in  the  world.  Nor 
is  there  in  a  family  any  richer  heir-loom  than 
the  memory  of  a  noble  ancestor.  Without  a 
good  name  you  can  possess  little  ascendency 
over  others ;  and  when  it  has  not  pioneered 
your  way  and  won  a  prepossession  for  yourself, 
your  patriotic  or  benevolent  intentions  are 
almost  sure  to  be  defeated. 

And  yet  it  will  never  do  to  seek  a  good 
name  as  a  primary  object.  Like  trying  to  be 


228  LECTUKE   XIII. 

graceful,  the  effort  to  be  popular  will  make  you 
contemptible.  Take  care  of  your  spirit  and 
conduct,  and  your  reputation  will  take  care  of 
itself.  It  is  by  "  blamelessness  and  good  be- 
havior," that  not  only  bishops,  but  individual 
believers,  are  to  gain  "  a  good  report  of  them 
who  are  without."  The  utmost  that  you  are 
.called  to  do  as  the  custodier  of  your  own  repu- 
tation is  to  remove  injurious  aspersions.  Let 
not  your  good  be 'evil  spoken  of,  and  follow  the 
•highest  examples  in  mild  and  explicit  self- vindi- 
cation. Still,  no  reputation  can  be  permanent 
which  does  not  spring  from  principle :  and  he 
who  would  maintain  a  good  character  should 
be  mainly  solicitous  to  maintain  a  conscience 
void  of  offence  towards  God  and  towards  men. 
Where  others  are  concerned  the  case  is 
different.  To  our  high-principled  and  deserv- 
ing brethren,  we  owe  a  frank  commendation 
and  a  fraternal  testimony.  "To  rejoice  in 
their  good  name;  to  cover  their  infirmities; 
freely  to  acknowledge  their  gifts  and  graces ; 
readily  to  receive  a  good  report,  and  unwil- 
lingly to  admit  an  evil  report  concerning 


A  GOOD  NAME.  229 

them;  to  discourage  tale-bearers  and  slan- 
derers,"* are  duties  which  we  owe  to  our 
neighbors ;  and  good  names  are  not  so  nume- 
rous but  that  the  utmost  care  should  be  taken 
of  them.  When  Dr.  M'Crie  published  the  Life 
of  our  Reformer,  it  was  very  noble  in  Dugald 
Stewart  to  seek  out  the  young  author  in  his 
humble  dwelling  and  cheer  him  with  his  ear- 
nest eulogy.  And  when  one  of  the  Reforma- 
tion heroes  was  maligned,  it  was  fine  to  see  their 
advocate  rummaging  amongst  the  archives  of 
the  Public  Library,  till  the  discrepant  date  en- 
abled him  to  exclaim,  "  Thank  God !  our 
friend  was  by  that  time  safe  in  Abraham's 
bosom!"  It  was  a  happy  thing  for  Paul  to 
have  so  good  a  name  among  the  Gentile 
Churches,  that  his  mere  request  was  enough 
to  bring  large  contributions  to  the  poor  saints 
of  Jerusalem ;  but,  if  so,  what  a  happy  thought 
to  Barnabas  to  know  that  when  Paul  himself 
was  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the  Church  at 
Jerusalem,!  his  own  good  name  had  been  the 
new  convert's  passport  and  guarantee. 

*  Westminster  Larger  Catechism          f  Acts  ix.  26,  27. 


LECTUEE   XIV. 

nf  Ifiulinn. 


"  The  patient  in  spirit  is  better  than  the  proud  in  spirit." 
ECCLES.  vii.  8. 


THE  lion  was  caught  in  the  toils  of  the 
hunter.  The  more  he  tugged,  the  more  his 
feet  got  entangled ;  when  a  little  mouse  heard 
his  roaring,  and  said  that  if  his  majesty  would 
not  hurt  him,  he  thought  he  could  release  him. 
At  first  the  king  of  the  beasts  took  no  notice 
of  such  a  contemptible  ally ;  but  at  last,  like 
other  proud  spirits  in  trouble,  he  allowed  his 
tiny  friend  to  do  as  he  pleased.  So  one  by 
one,  the  mouse  nibbled  through  the  cords,  till 
he  had  set  free  first  one  foot  and  then  another, 
and  then  all  the  four,  and  with  a  growl  of 
hearty  gratitude,  the  king  of  the  forest  ac- 
knowledged that  the  patient  in  spirit  is  some- 


THE   POWEB  OF  PATIENCE.  231 

times  stronger  than  the  proud  in  spirit.  And 
it  is  beautiful  to  see  how,  when  some  sturdy 
nature  is  involved  in  perplexity,  and  by  its 
violence  and  vociferation  is  only  wasting  its 
strength  without  forwarding  its  escape ;  there 
will  come  in  some  timely  sympathizer,  mild 
and  gentle,  and  will  suggest  the  simple  extri- 
cation, or  by  soothing  vehemence  down  into 
his  own  tranquillity,  will  set  him  on  the  way  to 
effect  his  self-deliverance.  Even  so,  all  through 
the  range  of  philanthropy,  patience  is  power. 
It  is  not  the  water-spout,  but  the  nightly  dew 
which  freshens  vegetation.  They  are  not  the 
flashes  of  the  lightning  which  mature  our 
harvests,  but  the  daily  sunbeams,  and  that 
quiet  electricity  which  thrills  in  atoms  and 
which  flushes  in  every  ripening  ear.  Niagara 
in  all  its  thunder  fetches  no  fertility ;  but  the 
'Nile,  coming  without  observation,  with  noise- 
less fatness  overflows,  and  from  under  the  re- 
tiring flood  Egypt  looks  up  again,  a  garner  of 
golden  corn.  The  world  is  the  better  for  its 
moral  cataracts,  and  its  spiritual  thunder- 
bolts ;  but  the  influences  which  do  the  world's 


232  LECTURE  XIV. 


great  work, — which,  freshen  and  fertilize  it, 
and  which  are  maturing  its  harvests  for  the 
garner  of  glory,  are  not  the  proud  and  potent 
spirits,  but  the  patient  and  the  persevering ; 
they  are  not  the  noisy  and  startling  phenome- 
na, but  the  steady  and  silent  operations.  They 
are  the  Sunday-schools  which  line  upon  line 
repeat  the  Gospel  lesson,  and  keep  alive  in  our 
youthful  millions  some  fear  of  God.  They  are 
the  good  and  loving  mothers  who  begin  with 
cradle  hymns,  and  who  try  to  make  the  sweet 
story  of  Jesus  as  dear  and  as  memorable  as 
their  own  kind  voices.  They  are  the  weekly 
Sabbaths  which  softly  overflow  the  land,  and 
which,  when  they  ebb  again,  leave  everywhere 
the  freshness  and  the  fertilizing  elements  con- 
veyed in  their  heaven- descended  tide.  Pa- 
tience is  power.  In  a  thirsty  land,  one  farmer 
digs  a  pit,  and  as  no  water  fills  it  he  opens 
another,  and  as  that  also  continues,  like  the 
well  in  Dothan,  dry,  he  commences  a  third  in 
a  spot  more  promising,  and  a  fourth,  and  many 
more,  till  he  has  tried  all  his  territory  without 
success,  and  then,  chafed  and  chagrined,  he 


THE   POWER  OF  PATIENCE.  233 

abandons  all  effort  in  despair.  His  neighbor 
chooses  a  spot,  and  begins.  No  water  flows, 
but  he  is  not  discouraged.  The  spade  and  the 
mattock  he  exchanges  for  the  drill  and  the 
auger ;  and  after  hammering  through  the 
flinty  rock  for  days  and  weeks,  at  last  the  long- 
sought  fountain  gushes,  and  at  his  threshold  he 
secures  a  perennial  spring,  which  neither  feels 
the  summer  drought  nor  dreads  the  winter's 
cold.  And  so,  on  behalf  of  some  right  object, 
one  man  is  anxious  to  enlist  the  good  feeling 
of  humanity:  and  he  brings  his  project  before 
one  influential  mind  after  another,  and  he  is 
mortified  to  find  how  drily  it  is  received  by 
this  celebrated  philanthropist,  and  how  many 
difficulties  are  started  by  another, — till  he  is 
ready  to  declare  that  benevolence  is  all  a  sham 
and  every  patriot  a  hypocrite.  But,  strong  in 
faith  and  patience,  another  takes  the  Artesian 
auger.  He  knows  that  deep  under  our  hard 
humanity  there  are  tender  feelings  and  kind 
sympathies.  Or  if  it  be  the  Church  on  which 
he  seeks  to  operate,  he  knows  that  under  all 
its  callousness  and  formalism  there  circulates  a 


234  LECTUKE  XIV. 


conscience, — there  flows  a  fresh  current  of 
principle  and  love  fed  from  the  crystal  river, 
and  he  is  resolved  to  reach  it.  He  takes  the 
Artesian  auger.  "  One  thing  I  do."  Preserv- 
ing his  temper  amid  all  rebuffs,  and  persever- 
ing amidst  all  impediments,  he  keeps  urging 
this  one  object, — and  at  last  the  vein  is  struck 
—the  fountain  flows.  Charles  sees  the  Bible 
Society  organized,  and  Carey  is  sent  to  India. 
Eaikes  sets  his  Sabbath -schools  agoing,  and 
Naismith  the  City  Mission.  Sadler  sees  infant 
emancipation  become  a  popular  movement, 
and  Agnew  finds  the  Church  at  last  aroused  to 
the  claims  of  the  Sabbath-day. 


LECTUKE    XV. 

3  tuit  f\\n. 

u  Dead  flies  cause  the  ointment  of  the  apothecary  to  send 
forth  a  stinking  savor :  so  doth  a  little  folly  him  that  is 
in  reputation  for  wisdom  and  honor." — ECOLES.  x.  1. 

THE  people  of  Palestine  dealt  largely  in  aro- 
matic oils,  and  it  was  a  chief  business  of  their 
apothecaries  to  prepare  them.  A  little  thing 
was  enough  to  spoil  them.  Although  the  vase 
were  alabaster,  and  although  the  most  exquisite 
perfumes  were  dissolved  in  the  limpid  olive,  a 
dead  fly  could  change  the  whole  into  a  pesti- 
lent odor. 

And  so,  says  the  Eoyal  Moralist,  a  character 
may  be  carefully  confected.  You  may  attend 
to  all  the  rules  of  wisdom  and  self-government 
which  I  have  now  laid  down ;  but  if  you  re- 
tain a  single  infirmity  it  will  ruin  the  whole. 


236  LECTURE  XV. 


Like  the  decomposing  influence  of  that  dead 
fly,  it  will  injure  all  the  rest  and  destroy  the 
reputation  which  you  otherwise  merit. 

The  principle  is  especially  applicable  to  a 
Christian  profession ;  and  the  best  use  we  can 
make  of  it  is  to  exemplify  it  in  some  of  those 
flaws  and  failings  which  destroy  the  attraction 
and  impressiveness  of  men  truly  devout  and 
God-fearing.  Our  instances  must  be  taken 
almost  at  random;  for,  like  their  Egyptian 
prototypes,  these  flies  are  too  many  to  be 
counted. 

Rudeness. — Some  good  men  are  blunt  in 
their  feelings,  and  rough  in  their  manners; 
and  they  apologize  for  their  coarseness  by  call- 
ing it  honesty,  downrightness,  plainness  of 
speech.  They  quote  in  self-defence  the  sharp 
words,  and  shaggy  mien  of  Elijah  and  John 
the  Baptist,  and,  as  affectation,  they  sneer  at  the 
soft  address  and  mild  manners  of  gentler  men. 
Now,  it  is  very  true  that  there  is  a  certain 
strength  of  character,  an  impetuousness  of  feel- 
ing, and  a  sturdy  vehemence  of  principle,  to 
which  it  is  more  difficult  to  prescribe  the  rules 


DEAD  FLIES.  237 


of  Christian  courtesy,  than  to  more  meek  and 
pliant  natures.  It  is  very  possible  that  Lati- 
mer  in  his  bluntness,  and  Knox  in  his  erect 
and  iron  severity,  and  Luther  in  the  magnifi- 
cent explosions  of  his  far-resounding  indigna- 
tion, may  have  been  nobler  natures,  and  fuller 
of  the  grace  of  God  than  the  supple  courtiers 
whose  sensibilities  they  so  rudely  shattered. 
But  it  does  not  follow  that  men  who  have  not 
got  their  warfare  to  wage  are  entitled  to  use 
their  weapons.  Nor  does  it  even  follow  that 
their  warfare  would  have  been  less  successful 
had  they  wielded  no  such  weapons.  The 
question,  however,  is  not  between  two  rival 
graces, — between  integrity  on  the  one  side, 
and  affability  on  the  other ;  but  the  question 
is,  Are  these  two  graces  compatible  ?  Can 
they  co-exist  ?  Is  it  possible  for  a  man  to  be 
explicit,  and  open,  and  honest,  and,  withal, 
courteous  and  considerate  of  the  feelings  of 
others?  Is  it  possible  to  add  to  fervor  and 
fidelity,  suavity,  and  urbanity,  and  brotherly- 
kindness  ?  The  question  has  already  been 
answered,  for  the  actual  union  of  these  things 
9 


238  -LECTURE   XV. 

has  already  been  exhibited.-  Without  refer- 
ring to  Nathan's  interview  with  David,  where 
truth  and  tenderness  triumph  together,  or 
Paul's  remonstrances  to  his  brethren,  in  which 
a  melting  heart  is  the  vehicle  of  each  needful 
reproof,  we  need  only  revert  to  the  great  ex- 
ample itself.  In  the  epistles  to  the  Asiatic 
Churches,  each  begins  with  commendation, 
wherever  there  was  anything  that  could  be 
commended.  With  the  magnanimity  which 
remembers  past  services  in  the  midst  of  pres- 
ent injury,  and  which  would  rather  notice 
good  than  complain  of  evil,  each  message,  so 
far  as  there  was  material  for  it,  is  ushered  in 
by  a  word  of  eulogy,  and  weight  is  added  to 
the  subsequent  admonition  by  this  preface  of 
kindness.*  And  it  was  the  same  while  the 
Lord  Jesus  was  on  earth.  His  tender  tone 
was  the  keen  edge  of  his  reproofs,  and  his  un- 
questionable love  infused  solemnity  into  every 
warning.  There  never  was  one  more  faithful 
than  the  Son  of  God,  but  there  never  was 
one  more  considerate.  And  just  as  rudeness 

*  Fuller  on  the  Apocalypse,  p.  16. 


DEAD  FLIES.  239 


is  not  essential  to  honesty,  so  neither  is  rough, 
ness  essential  to  strength  of  character.  The 
Christian  should  have  a  strong  character ;  he 
should  be  a  man  of  remarkable  decision ;  he 
should  start  back  from  temptation  as  from  a 
bursting  bomb.  And  he  should  be  a  man 
of  inflexible  purpose.  When  once  he  knows 
his  Lord's  will,  he  should  go  through  with  it, 
aye,  through  fire  and  water  with  it.  But  this 
he  may  do  without  renouncing  the  meekness 
and  gentleness  which  were  in  Christ.  He  may 
have  zeal  without  pugnacity,  determination 
without  obstinacy.  He  should  distinguish 
between  the  ferocity  of  the  animal  and  the 
courage  of  the  Christian.  And  whether  he 
makes  the  distinction  or  not,  the  world  will 
make  it.  The  world  looks  for  the  serene  be- 
nevolence of  conscious  strength  in  a  follower 
of  the  Lamb  of  God ;  and,  however  rude  its 
own  conduct,  it  expects  that  the  Christian 
himself  will  be  courteous. 

Irritability. — One  of  the  most  obvious  and 
impressive  features  in  the  Saviour's  character 
was  his  meekness.  In  a  patience  which  in- 


240  LECTURE  XV. 


genious  or  sudden  provocation  could  not  up- 
set ;  in  a  magnanimity  which  insult  could  not 
ruffle;  in  a  gentleness  from  which  no  folly 
could  extract  an  unadvised  word,  men  saw 
what  they  could  scarcely  understand,  but  that 
which  made  them  marvel.  Though  disciples 
were  strangely  dull,  he  never  lost  temper  with 
them ;  though  Judas  was  very  dishonest,  He 
did  nott  bring  any  railing  accusation  against 
him;  though  Philip  had  been  so  long  time 
with  Him,  and  had  not  understood  Him,  He 
did  not  dismiss  him  from  his  company.  When 
Peter  denied  Him,  it  was  not  a  frown  that 
withered  him,  but  a  glance  of  affection  that 
melted  him.  And  so  with  his  enemies ;  it  was 
not  by  lightning  from  heaven,  but  by  love 
from  his  pierced  heart,  that  He  subdued  them. 
But  many  Christians  lack  this  beauty  of  their 
Master's  holiness ;  they  are  afflicted  with  evil 
tempers,  they  cannot  rule  their  spirits,  or 
rather  they  do  not  try.  Some  indulge  occa- 
sionally in  fits  of  anger ;  and  others  are  haunted 
by  habitual,  daily,  life-long  fretfulness.  The 
one  sort  is  generally  calm  and  pellucid  as  an 


DEAD  FLIES.  241 


Alpine  lake,  but  on  some  special  provocation, 
is  tossed  up  into  a  magnificent  tempest;  the 
other  is  like  the  Bosphorus,  in  a  continual 
stir,  and  even  when  not  a  breath  is  moving, 
by  the  contrariety  of  its  internal  currents  vex- 
ing itself  into  a  ceaseless  whirl  and  eddy.  The 
one  is  Hecla — for  long  intervals  silent  as  a 
granite  peak,  and  suffering  the  snow-flakes  to 
fall  on  its  cold  crater,  till  you  forget  that  it  is 
a  burning  mountain ;  and  then  on  some  sud- 
den and  unlooked-for  disturbance,  hurling  the 
hollow  truce  into  the  clouds,  and  pouring  forth 
in  one  noisy  night  the  stifled  mischief  of  many 
a  year.  The  other  is  Stromboli,  a  perpetual 
volcano,  seldom  indulging  in  any  disastrous 
eruption ;  but  muttering  and  quaking,  steam- 
ing and  hissing  night  and  day,  in  a  way  which 
makes  strangers  nervous ;  and  ever  and  anon 
spinning  through  the  air  a  red-hot  rock,  or  a 
spirt  of  molten  metal,  to  remind  the  heedless 
natives  of  their  angry  neighbor.  But  either 
form,  the  paroxysmal  fury,  and  the  perennial 
fretfulness,  is  inconsistent  with  the  wisdom 
from  above,  which  is  peaceable,  gentle,  easy 
16 


242  LECTURE  XV. 


to  be  entreated.  Worldly  men  can  perceive 
the  inconsistency,  but  instead  of  ascribing  it  to 
its  proper  causes,  they  are  more  likely  to  at- 
tribute it -to  the  insincerity  of  Christians,  or 
the  insufficiency  of  the  Gospel ;  and  even  the 
more  willing  sort  of  worldlings,  those  who 
have  some  predisposition  in  favor  of  the  truth, 
are  very  apt  to  be  shocked  and  driven  off  by 
the  unhallowed  ebullitions  of  religious  men. 
Suppose  such  an  individual,  with  his  attention 
newly  awakened  to  the  great  salvation — with 
his  mind  impressed  by  some  Scriptural  de- 
lineation of  regenerate  character ;  his  ear,  it 
may  be,  still  charmed  with  a  glowing  descrip- 
tion of  the  Gospel's  magic  power,  making 
wolfish  men  so  lamblike,  and  teaching  the 
weaned  child  to  play  on  the  cockatrice  den ; 
suppose  such  a  man  in  the  way  of  business,  or 
kindness,  or  spiritual  inquiry,  to  approach  a 
stranger  of  Christian  renown,  and  accosting 
him  in  full  persuasion  of  his  Christian  charac- 
ter, prepared  for  a  cordial  welcome,  a  patient 
hearing  at  the  least, — but  alas !  coming  in  at 
some  unprapitious  moment,  he  is  greeted  with 


BEAD  FLIES.  243 


a  shout  of  impatience,  or  annihilated  by  a  flash 
from  his  lowering  countenance, — why,  it  is 
like  putting  your  hand  into  the  nest  of  the 
turtle-dove,  and  drawing  it  out  with  a  long, 
slimy  serpent,  dangling  in  warty  folds,  and 
holding  on  by  its  fiery  fangs.  There  is  hor- 
ror in  the  disappointment,  as  well  as  anguish 
in  the  bite ;  and  the  frightful  association  can- 
not easily  be  forgotten. 

Akin  to  these  infirmities  of  temper,  are 
some  other  inconsistencies  as  inconvenient  to 
their  Christian  brethren  as  they  are  likely  to 
stumble  a  scoffing  world.  Some  professors 
are  so  whimsical  and  impracticable,  that  it 
needs  continual  stratagem  to  enlist  them  in 
any  labor  of  usefulness,  and  after  they  are 
once  fairly  engaged  in  it,  nothing  but  per- 
petual watchfulness  and  the  most  tender  man- 
agement can  keep  them  in  it.  In  all  your 
dealings  with  them,  like  a  man  walking  over 
a  galvanic  pavement,  you  tread  uneasily,  won- 
dering when  the  next  shock  is  to  come  off, 
and  every  moment  expecting  some  paradox  to 
spring  under  your  feet.  In  the  Christian  so- 


244  LECTUKE  XV. 


cieties  of  which  they  are  members,  they  con- 
stitute non-conformable  materials  of  which  it 
is  difficult  to  dispose.  They  are  irregular 
solids  for  which  it  is  not  easy  to  find  a  place 
in  rearing  the  temple.  They  are  the  polyhe- 
drons of  the  church,  each  punctilio  of  their 
own  forming  a  several  face,  and  making  it 
a  hard  problem  to  fix  them  where  they  will 
not  mar  the  structure.  Apostolical  magna- 
nimity they  deem  subserviency  or  sinful  con- 
nivance ;  and  simultaneous  movements  or 
Christian  co-operation  they  deem  lawful  only 
when  all  conform  to  them.  Like  those  indi- 
viduals whose  bodies  are  non-conductors,  and 
who  can  stop  an  electric  circuit  after  it  has 
travelled  through  a  mile  of  other  men,  secta- 
rian professors  are  so  positively  charged  with 
their  own  peculiarities,  that  the  influence  which 
has  been  transmitted  through  consenting  my- 
riads, stops  short  as  soon  as  it  reaches  them. 

Selfishness. — The  world  expects  self-denial 
in  the  Christian ;  and  with  reason,  for  of  all 
men  he  can  best  afford  it,  and  by  his  profes- 
sion he  is  committed  to  it.  You  are  on  a 


DEAD  FLIES.  245 


journey,  and  because  you  have  been  distribut- 
ing tracts  or  reading  the  Bible,  or  have  made 
some  pious  observations,  your  fellow-travellers 
set  you  down  for  a  Christian.  By-and-by  one 
of  your  companions  makes  a  civil  remark,  but 
not  being  in  a  mood  for  talking,  you  turn  him 
off  with  a  short  answer.  A  delicate  passen- 
ger would  like  your  side  of  the  carriage,  but 
you  wish  to  see  the  country  or  prefer  the 
cooler  side ;  so  you  make  no  movement,  but 
allow  your  neighbor  to  change  places  with 
the  invalid.  And  at  last  an  accident  occurs 
which  will  detain  you  an  hour  beyond  the 
usual  time ;  so  you  lose  all  patience,  and  fret, 
and  scold,  and  talk  of  hiring  post-chaises, — 
while  some  good-humored  or  philosophic  way- 
farer sits  quiet  in  the  corner,  or  gets  out,  and 
looks  leisurely  on  till  the  misfortune  is  mended, 
and  then  resumes  his  journey,  having  lost 
nothing  but  his  time,  whilst  you  have  lost  both 
your  time  and  your  temper.  In  such  a  case 
it  would  be  better  that  you  had  left  the  tracts 
and  the  Bible  at  home,  for  your  inconsistency 
is  likely  to  do  more  evil,  than  your  direct 


246  LECTUEE  XV. 


efforts  are  likely  to  do  good.  As  a  worldly 
man  you  would  have  been  entitled  to  indulge 
your  own  indolence,  your  own  convenience,  or 
your  own  impatience  as  much  as  you  pleased ; 
but  if  you  really  are  a  disciple  of  Christ,  you 
owed  it  to  Him  to  "  deny  yourself." 
•  The  subject  is  uninviting,  and  time  would 
fail  did  we  speak  of  the  parsimony,  the  indo- 
lence, the  egotism,  the  want  of  intelligence,  the 
want  of  taste,  by  which  many  excellent  char- 
acters are  marred,  and  by  which  the  glory  of 
the  Gospel  is  often  compromised.  We  would 
not  be  accusers  of  the  brethren.  We  only  sug- 
gest a  subject  for  self-examination,  and  we  in- 
dicate an  object  to  which  the  Church's  energy 
might  be  advantageously  directed.  We  fear 
that  we  have  failed  to  cultivate  sufficiently  the 
things  honest,  lovely,  and  of  good  report,  and 
that  we  have  sometimes  allowed  ourselves  to 
be  excelled  by  worldly  men  in  those  beauties 
of  character  which,  though  subordinate,  are 
not  insignificant.  Attention  to  the  wants  of 
others,  care  for  their  welfare,  and  consideration 
for  their  feelings,  are  Christian  graces  for  which 


DEAD   FLIES.  247 


all  Christians  ought  to  be  conspicuous,  Chris- 
tianity allows  us  to  forget  our  own  wants,  but 
it  does  not  permit  us  to  forget  the  necessities 
of  our  brethren.  It  requires  us  to  be  careless 
of  our  own  ease,  but  it  forbids  us  to  overlook 
the  comfort  and  convenience  of  other  people. 
Of  this  the  Lord  Jesus  was  Himself  the  pat- 
tern. He  was  sometimes  a-hungered,  but  in 
that  case  he  wrought  no  miracle.  But  when 
the  multitude  had  long  fasted,  he  created 
bread  to  supply  them,  rather  than  send  them 
away  fainting.  And  though  his  great  errand 
was  to  save  his  people  from  their  sins,  none 
ever  saved  so  many  from  their  sorrows.  And  in 
this  disciples  should  resemble  Him.  Although 
they  know  that  the  soul  is  better  worth  than 
the  body,  and  the  interests  of  eternity  more 
precious  than  those  of  time,  they  also  know 
that  it  is  after  these  things  that  the  Gentiles 
seek ;  and,  therefore,  if  they  would  win  the 
Gentiles,  they  must  attend  to  their  personal 
wants,  and  temporal  comforts.  Nay,  more,  as 
a  system  of  universal  amelioration,  Christi- 
anity demands  our  efforts  for  the  outward  weal 


248  LECTUKE  XV. 


of  our  worldly  neighbors,  and  our  delicate  at- 
tention to  the  minutest  comfort  of  our  Chris- 
tian brethren.  It  was  on  this  principle  that, 
seeking  the  salvation  of  his  peasant-parishion- 
ers, Oberlin  felt  that  he  was  not  going  out  of 
his  way  as  an  evangelist,  when  he  opened  a 
school  for  children,  wild  as  their  own  rock- 
goats;  when  he  taught  the  older  people  many 
humble  but  useful  arts  hitherto  unknown  in 
the  Ban-de-la-Eoche ;  when  he  set  them  to  the 
planting  of  trees,  and  clearing  of  roads ;  when 
he  established  an  agricultural  society,  and  pub- 
lished a  calendar,  divested  of  the  astrological 
falsehoods  with  which  their  almanacs  were 
wont  to  abound.  Oberlin's  Christianity  would 
have  prompted  these  humane  and  beneficent 
actions  even  though  no  ulterior  good  had  ac- 
crued from  them ;  but  first  in  the  love  of  these 
villagers,  and  then  in  their  conversion  to  God, 
he  had  his  abundant  reward.  And  it  was  on 
the  same  principle  that  the  apostolic  Williams, 
brim-full  of  sense  and  kindness,  came  down 
like  a  cornucopia  on  his  South  Sea  Islanders, 
and  startling  them  with  the  prodigies  of  civili- 


DEAD  FLIES.  249 


zation,  and  enriching  them  with  its  inventions, 
at  once  conveyed  an  idea  of  the  bountiful 
spirit  of  the  Gospel,  and  conciliated  their  af- 
fection to  its  messenger.  And  it  was  on  the 
same  principle  that  the  benignant  Wilberforce, 
— himself  the  best  "practical  view  of  Christi- 
anity,"— was  so  studious  of  the  feelings,  and 
so  accommodating  to  the  wishes  of  his  worldly 
friends, — so  abounded  in  those  considerate  at- 
tentions to  the  humblest  acquaintance,  which 
only  a  delicate  mind  could  imagine,  and  a  dex- 
trous skill  could  execute, — and  would  subject 
himself  to  all  sorts  of  inconvenience  in  order 
to  "  carry  a  ray  of  gladness  from  the  social 
circle  into  the  sick  man's  cottage,"  or  to  tem- 
per with  his  own  diffusive  gladness  the  bitter 
cup  of  some  humble  disciple.  JSTo  disciple 
can  resemble  his  Lord,  who  does  not  maintain 
this  benignant  bearing  to  all  around  him. 
Grace  was  infused  into  the  lips  of  Jesus.  None 
in  the  guise  of  humanity  was  ever  conscious  of 
such  power  within ;  none  ever  gave  outlet  to 
inherent  power  in  milder  coruscations.  His 
gentleness  made  him  great ;  and  so  engaging 


250  LECTURE   XV. 


was  his  aspect,  so  compassionate  his  mien,  that 
frail  mortality  could  lay  its  head  securely  on 
his  bosom,  though  a  Shekinah  slept  within. 
Believers  should  in  this  resemble  Jesus.  They 
should  be  mild  and  accessible,  and,  like  the 
Sun  of  Eighteousness,  should  carry  such  heal- 
ing in  their  wings,  as  to  make  their  very 
presence  the  harbinger  of  joy.  It  was  said  of 
Charles  of  Bala,  that  it  was  a  good  sermon  to 
look  at  him.  And  so  much  of  the  Master's 
mind  should  reside  in  each  disciple  as  to  make 
that  true  of  him  which  the  old  elegy  says  of 
one  of  England's  finest  worthies : — 

"  A  sweet  attractive  kind  of  grace, 
A  full  assurance  given  by  looks, 
Continual  comfort  in  a  face 
The  lineament  of  Gospel-books ; 

For  sure  that  count'nance  cannot  lie, 
Whose  thoughts  are  written  in  the  eye." 


LECTUEE   XYI. 

SJPB:  nr,  Innta  unit  toft  Iraae. 

READ  ECOLES.  ix.  13-18  :  x.  1-15. 


'  If  the  iron  be  blunt,  and  he  do  not  whet  the  edge,  then 
must  he  put  to  more  strength  ;  but  wisdom  is  profitable 
to  direct." 

LORD  BACON  said,  "Knowledge  is  power," 
and  daring  the  last  hundred  years  no  aphor- 
ism has  been  so  often  quoted,  nor  has  any  been 
so  largely  illustrated.  In  this  little  island,  and 
during  the  present  week,  machinery  will  be  in 
motion  doing  the  work  of  five  hundred  mil- 
lions of  men  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  machines  of 
England  and  Scotland  will  this  week  weave  as 
much  cloth  and  prepare  as  much  food,  and 
supply  the  world's  inhabitants  with  as  many 
commodities,  as  could  be  made  by  hand  if  all 
the  upgrown  natives  of  the  globe  were  labor- 


252  LECTURE   XVI. 


ing  night  and  day.  Could  you  convert  into 
artificers  and  laborers  every  man  and  woman 
in  either  hemisphere,  and  from  the  Caffres  at 
the  Cape  to  the  Peers  in  our  Parliament,  did 
all  agree  to  toil  their  utmost,  and  had  they  no 
implements  besides  those  which  primitive  man 
possesses, — with  all  the  expenditure  of  their 
vital  powers,  with  all  the  sweat,  and  waste  of 
fibre,  and  straining  of  eyesight,  at  the  week's 
end  it  would  be  found  that  they  had  not  done 
half  the  work,  nor  done  that  half  so  well  as  a 
few  engines  peacefully  revolving  under  the  im- 
pulse of  some  hogsheads  of  water,  or  so  many 
tons  of  coal. 

In  the  barbaric  civilization  of  the  old  Mexi- 
cans, it  was  thought  a  wonderful  exploit  to 
transmit  intelligence  at  the  rate  of  200  miles  in 
four-and-twenty  hours.  As  they  had  neither 
horses  nor  dromedaries,  in  order  to  accomplish 
this  feat  posts  were  established  at  intervals  of 
three  or  four  miles;  and  snatching  the  de- 
spatch from  one  reeking  messenger,  the  courier 
burst  away  with  it  and  flew  over  hill  and  val- 
ley till  he  reached  the  next  -station,  and  thrust 


BLUNT  AXES.  253 


it  into  the  hand  of  another  express,  who,  in  his 
turn,  bolted  off  and  conveyed  it  farther  inland, 
till  at  last  it  reached  the  Emperor.  How 
amazed  one  of  these  old  Aztecs  might  be 
could  he  revive  from  the  slumber  of  three 
centuries,  and  see  the  whole  accomplished 
without  fatigue  to  a  single  human  being! 
How  amazed  did  he  know  that  without  short- 
ening the  breath  or  moistening  the  brow  of  a 
single  messenger,  communications  could  come 
and  go  betwixt  a  king  and  his  commander-in- 
chief,  a  hundred  leagues  asunder,  fifty  times  in 
a  single  day ! 

We  see  that  "knowledge  is  power,"  and  we 
constantly  repeat  the  saying  as  if  Bacon  had 
been  the  first  who  remarked  the  strength  of 
skill.  But  six-and-twenty  centuries  before  the 
days  of  Lord  Verulam,  King  Solomon  had 
said,  "A  wise  man  is  strong."  "Wisdom  is 
better  than  strength."  "Wisdom  is  better 
than  weapons  of  war."  Perhaps  it  is  owing 
to  the  imperfect  sympathies  which  exist  be- 
tween theologians  and  philosophers,  that  such 
scriptural  sayings  and  many  others  fraught 


254  LECTURE   XVI. 


with,  great  principles  have  received  so  little 
justice.  And  hence  it  has  come  to  pass  that 
many  a  maxim  has  got  a  fresh  circulation,  and 
has  made  a  little  fortune  of  renown  for  its 
author,  which  is,  after  all,  a  medal  fresh  minted 
from  Bible  money :  the  gold  of  Moses  or  Sol- 
omon used  up  again  with  the  image  and  su- 
perscription of  Bacon,  or  Pascal,  or  Benjamin 
Franklin. 

The  particular  example  which  Solomon  here 
gives,  will  bring  to  your  remembrance  many 
parallels,  from  the  time  when  Archimedes 
with  his  engines  on  the  wall,  sank  the  ships 
of  Marcellus  in  the  port  of  Syracuse,  down  to 
the  gallant  and  successful  defence  of  Antwerp 
conducted  by  the  old  mathematician,  Carnot.* 
"  There  was  a  little  city,  and  few  men  within 
it,  and  there  came  a  great  king  against  it,  and 
besieged  it,  and  built  great  bulwarks  against 
it.  Now  there  was  found  in  it  a  poor  wise 
man,  and  he  by  his  wisdom  delivered  the 
city."  And  surely  science  is  never  more  sub- 
lime than  when  thus  she  wins  and  wears  the 

*  Livii  lib.  24,  cap.  34.    Alison's  "  Europe,"  chap.  78. 


BLUNT  AXES.  255 


civic  crown.  Or  even  should  there  be  no  in- 
vader at  the  gates,  when  a  beneficent  inge- 
nuity is  exerted  to  enhance  the  pleasures  of 
peace  ;  when  discovery  chemical  or  dynamical 
floods  our  streets  with  midnight  radiance,  and 
bids  clear  water  spring  up  in  the  poorest  attic ; 
when  it  mitigates  disease  or  multiplies  the 
loaves  of  bread ;  when  by  making  them  nearer 
neighbors  it  forces  nations  to  be  better  friends, 
and  by  diminishing  life's  interruptions  length- 
ens our  span  of  probation  and  our  power  of 
usefulness; — surely  the  "poor  man"  whose 
"  wisdom"  thus  enriches  the  species  deserves 
to  sit  among  the  princes  of  the  people;  and 
whilst  religion  should  render  praise  to  that 
Wonderful  Counsellor  who  teacheth  man  such 
knowledge,  patriotism  and  philanthropy  must 
enrol  the  discoverers  among  the  benefactors  of 
mankind. 

"  Wisdom  is  better  than  strength,"  and  the 
more  that  wisdom  spreads  the  more  human 
strength  is  saved,  and  the  more  is  comfort  en- 
hanced. The  bird  who  is  about  to  build  her 
nest  next  month  will  toil  as  long  and  work  as 


256  LECTURE  XVT. 


hard  as  the  sparrows  and  swallows  who  fre- 
quented the  temple  in  the  time  of  Solomon, 
and  the  building  will  be  no  improvement  on 
the  nests  of  three  thousand  years  ago.  But  if 
Solomon's  own  palace  were  to  be  builded 
anew,  modern  skill  could  rear  it  much  faster 
than  Hiram's  masonry;  and  there  are  few 
houses  in  London  which  do  not  contain  lux- 
uries and  accommodations  which  were  lacking 
in  "the  house  of  the  forest  of  Lebanon."  It 
is  the  kindness  of  the  Creator  to  the  inferior 
animal  that  he  gives  it  instinct,  and  puts  it 
from  the  outset  on  a  plan  sufficiently  good  for 
its  purpose.  But  the  prerogative  of  man  is 
progress.  His  instincts  are  faint  arid  few; 
whilst  to  reason  and  faith  the  vistas  are  bound- 
less. And  betwixt  that  "  wisdom"  which  God 
has  directly  revealed,  and  those  expedients 
which  are  constantly  occurring  to  painstaking 
intelligence,  it  is  so  arranged  that  the  older 
humanity  waxes  the  lighter  grow  its  toils  and 
the  more  copious  become  the  alleviations  of 
its  lot.  Already  a  pound  of  coals  and  a  pint 
of  water  will  do  the  day's  work  of  a  sturdy 


BLUNT  AXES.  257 


man;  and  with  a  week's  wages  a  mechanic 
may  now  procure  a  library  more  comprehen- 
sive and  more  edifying  than  that  which 
adorned  the  Tusculan  villa, — nay  such  a  store 
of  books  as  the  wealth  of  Solomon  could  not 
command. 

These  statements  meet  a  certain  misgiving 
of  some  truly  Christian  minds.  They  love  the 
Bible,  because  it  is  God's  book.  To  some  de- 
gree they  love  the  landscape  and  the  seasons, 
because  they  are  God's  handiwork.  They  can 
take  pleasure  in  watching  the  proceedings  of 
the  lower  animals,  because  in  the  dyke-build- 
ing of  that  beaver,  or  the  nest-building  of  that 
bird,  they  can  mark  evolutions  of  the  all-per- 
vading Mind.  But  when  they  come  to  the 
operations  of  the  artisan  or  the  architect,  they 
are  conscious  of  an  abrupt  transition,  and  with 
the  poet  they  exclaim, 

"  God  made  the  country,  but  man  made  the  town." 

Here,  however,  there  is  a  fallacy.    So  far  as  sin- 
ful purposes  may  be  designed  or  subserved  in 
their  construction,  the  town  and  its  contents 
17 


258  LECTURE   XVI. 


are  the  work  of  man ;  but  the  materials  and  the 
skill  which  moulds  them,  are  the  good  and  per- 
fect gifts  of  God.  It  is  true  that  He  has  not 
taught  man  to  make  palaces  and  railways  in- 
stinctively, as  He  has  taught  ants  to  build  hil- 
locks and  construct  covered  galleries  ;  but  He 
has  furnished  the  human  mind  with  those  fac- 
ulties and  tendencies,  which,  under  favoring 
circumstances,  develop  in  railways  and  palaces 
as  surely  as  beaver-mind  develops  in  moles 
and  embankments,  or  as  bee-mind  develops 
in  combs  and  hexagons.  And  although  it  may 
be  very  true  that  the  artificer  is  often  unde- 
vout, — perhaps  a  libertine  or  an  atheist ;  and 
although  the  curious  contrivance  or  exquisite 
elaboration  may  be  designed  for  any  end  but 
a  holy  one ;  when  you  separate  the  moral 
from  the  mechanical, — the  sin  which  is  man's 
from  the  skill  which  is  Jehovah's, — in  every 
fair  product,  and  more  especially,  in  every  con- 
tribution to  human  comfort,  you  ought  to  recog- 
nize the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God  as  their 
ultimate  origin  no  less  than  if  you  read  on 
every  object,  "  Holiness  to  the  Lord,"  and  in 


BLUNT  AXES.  259 


each  artificer  discerned  another  Aholiab  or 
Bezaleel.  The  arts  are  the  gifts  of  God ;  their 
abuse  is  from  man  and  from  the  Devil.  And  just 
as  an  enlightened  disciple  looks  forth  on  the 
landscape,  and  in  its  beautiful  features  as  well 
as  its  curious  ingredients,  beholds  mementoes 
of  his  Master ;  so  surveying  a  beautiful  city, 
its  museums  and  its  monuments,  its  statues  and 
fountains  ;  or  sauntering  through  a  gallery  of 
arts  and  useful  inventions,  in  all  the  symmetry 
of  proportions  and  splendor  of  coloring,  in 
every  ingenious  device  and  every  powerful  en- 
gine, he  may  discern  the  manifestations  of  that 
Mind  which  is  wonderful  in  counsel  and  excel- 
lent in  working;  and  so  far  as  skill  and  adap- 
tation and  elegance  are  involved,  piety  will  hail 
the  Great  Architect  Himself  as  the  Maker  of 
the  town.* 

So  Christian  is  art, — so  truly  a  good  gift  of 
the  Father  of  lights,  that,  wherever  the  Gospel 
proceeds,  this  companion  should  go  with  it. 

*  Those  who  are  interested  in  such  topics  will  find  them 
fully  discussed  in  "  The  Useful  Arts :  their  Birth  and  Devel- 
opment," edited  by  the  Rev.  S.  Martin. 


260  LECTURE  XVI. 

When  the  missionary,  Van  der  Kemp,  was 
setting  out  for  Africa,  passing  one  of  the  brick- 
fields of  London,  he  thought  it  would  be  such 
a  boon  to  the  Hottentots  if  he  could  improve 
their  dwellings  that  he  offered  himself  as  a 
servant  to  the  brick-maker,  and  spent  some 
weeks  in  learning  the  business.  And  he  was 
right.  It  is  not  easy  to  live  godly  and  right- 
eously amidst  filth  and  darkness ;  and  although 
the  Gospel  will  not  refuse  to  enter  a  Hottentot 
hut  or  an  Irish  cabin,  when  once  it  is  admitted 
its  tendency  is  to  improve  that  cabin  or  hut 
into  a  cottage  with  tiles  on  the  floor  and  glass 
in  the  windows.  And,  to  the  honor  of  Chris- 
tian missionaries,  it  should  be  remembered 
that  wherever  they  have  gone  they  have  car- 
ried those  useful  arts  which  render  godliness 
profitable  to  all  things.  "  In  the  schools  of 
Sierra  Leone,  the  girls  are  taught  to  spin  and 
the  boys  to  weave."  In  the  South  Sea  Islands 
the  missionaries  have  taught  the  people  smiths' 
work  and  wrights'  work;  they  have  taught 
them  to  build  ships  an.d  boil  sugar ;  to  print 
books  and  plant  gardens.  And  even  that  race, 


BLUNT  AXES.  261 


once  so  besotted  that  its  claim  to  the  common 
humanity  was  disputed, — the  Hottentots  are 
now  excellent  farmers  and  artificers,  and  in  the 
words  of  one  of  themselves,  "  They  can  make 
everything  except  a  watch  and  a  coach/'* 

In  concluding  this  part  of  the  subject  I 
would  only  remark  that  the  more  things  which 
a  Christian  is  able  to  do  the  better.  "If  the 
axe  be  blunt,  and  he  do  not  whet  the  edge, 
then  must  he  put  to  more  strength."  A  little 
skill  expended  in  sharpening  the  edge,  will 
save  a  great  deal  of  strength  in  wielding  the 
hatchet.  But,  just  as  the  unskilful  laborer 
who  cannot  handle  the  whetstone,  must  bela- 
bor the  tree  with  a  blunt  instrument,  and  after 
inflaming  his  palms  and  racking  his  sinews, 
achieves  less  result  than  his  neighbor  whose 
knowledge  and  whose  knack  avail  instead  of 
brute  force ;  so  the  servant  who  does  not  know 
the  right  way  to  do  his  work,  after  all  his 
fatigue  and  fluster,  will  give  less  satisfaction 

*  Harris's  Great  Commission,  pp.  196,  197.  The  indus- 
trial is  admirably  combined  with  the  evangelistic  in  the 
French  Canadian  Mission,  and  in  the  Home  Mission  of  the 
Presbyterian  Church  in  Ireland. 


262  LECTURE  XVI. 

than  one  who  has  learned  the  best  and  easiest 
methods ;  the  young  emigrant  who  has  no  ver- 
satility must  forego  many  comforts  which 
more  accomplished  comrades  enjoy;  and  the 
householder  who  knows  nothing  of  the  me- 
chanic arts,  or  who  knows  not  what  to  do 
when  sickness  and  emergencies  occur,  must 
compensate  by  the  depths  of  his  purse,  or 
the  strength  of  his  arm  for  the  defects  of 
his  skill.  A  blunt  axe  implies  heavy  blows 
and  an  aching  arm ;  coarse  work  with  a  blis- 
tered hand.  But  "  wisdom  is  profitable  to 
direct."  Intelligence  is  as  good  as  strength, 
and  a  little  skill  will  save  both  time  and  mate- 
rials, money  and  temper. 

Important,  however,  as  is  mechanic  skill, 
there  is  a  wisdom  still  more  profitable, — a  wis- 
dom which  can  turn  to  its  own  account  the 
mechanic  skill  of  others.  The  clever  engineer 
who  saved  the  little  city  was  a  poor  man,  and 
so  little  understanding  had  his  fellow-citizens, 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  obtained  a  hear- 
ing for  his  project,  and  so  little  gratitude  had 
they  that  when  the  danger  was  past,  "no  one 


BLUNT  AXES.  263 


remembered  the  poor  man."  And  it  is  sad 
when  people  have  neither  the  skill  to  help 
themselves,  nor  the  sense  to  accept  the  ser- 
vices of  others.  It  is  sad  when  men  have 
neither  the  sagacity  to  devise  the  measures 
which  the  emergency  demands,  nor  can  so  far 
rule  their  spirits  as  to  keep  "  quiet"  and  listen 
to  what  "wise  men"  say.  And  next  to  his 
wisdom  who  can  offer  good  counsel,  is  the  wis- 
dom of  him  who  can  take  it. 

"  A  wise  man's  heart  is  at  his  right  hand, 
never  off  its  guard."*  He  is  calm  and  col- 
lected, and  is  not  easily  taken  by  surprise. 
Whereas,  a  fool's  wits  are  at  his  left  hand. 
His  presence  of  mind  is  posthumous.  He  sees 
what  he  should  have  done  when  the  mischief 
can  no  longer  be  undone.  He  hits  on  the 
very  repartee  he  ought  to  have  uttered  when 
his  assailant  is  already  out  of  hearing.  He 
suggests  what  would  have  saved  the  ship, 
when  they  are  already  raising  the  wreck.  But, 
not  only  is  it  in  ready  resources  that  the  fool 
is  deficient ;  there  is  a  transparent  shallowness 
*  G.  Holden. 


264  LECTURE    XVI. 


in  his  vacant  gaze,  or  self-conceited  simper, 
and  instead  of  that  "sustained  sense  and  grav- 
ity,"* which  marks  the  man  of  mind,  his  gar- 
rulous egotism  and  confidential  childishness 
are  constantly  letting  out  the  secret  of  his  silli- 
ness. Reserve  is  none  of  his  failings.  He  is 
as  frank  as  he  is  foolish ;  and  when  "  he  walk- 
eth  by  the  way,  his  wisdom  faileth  him,  and 
he  saith  to  every  one  that  he  is  a-  fool." 

One  rare  manifestation  of  good  sense  is  mag- 
nanimity. "If  the  spirit  of  the  ruler  rise  up 
against  thee,  leave  not  thy  place ;  for  yielding 
pacifieth  great  offences."  If,  acting  as  the 
king's  adviser,  you  incur  his  displeasure;  if,  in 
obedience  to  conscience,  or  in  concern  for  your 
country,  you  are  constrained  to  urge  unpalata- 
ble counsel;  and  if  your  faithfulness  proves 
offensive,  instead  of  retiring  into  some  other 
land,  be  patriotic,  and  keep  your  post.  Instead 
of  obeying  your  offended  dignity  and  return- 
ing spleen  for  spleen,  await  the  propitious 
season.  For  a  soft  answer  turneth  away 
wrath,  and  self-control  will  conquer  your  sover- 

*  Chalmers. 


BLUNT  AXES,  265 


eign.  Nor  is  it  only  from  the  ministers  of 
despots  that  such  sacrifice  may  be  demanded. 
It  extends  to  every  official  person.  If  you  are 
a  representative  of  the  people,  and  if  you  are 
sometimes  vexed  and  worried  with  unreasona- 
ble demands  or  ungracious  remonstrances : — if 
you  occupy  some  municipal  station,  and  are 
brought  into  conflict  with  foul  tongues  and 
coarse  natures : — if  you  are  a  member  of  any 
court,  civil  or  ecclesiastical,  where  you  are  fre- 
quently outvoted,  and  measures  are  often  car- 
ried, which  you  utterly  abhor, — the  impulse  is 
to  abdicate.  Why  should  you  serve  heads  so 
thick,  and  hearts  so  thankless  ?  Why  should 
you  mingle  with  such  a  rabble  rout,  and  sub- 
mit day  by  day  to  have  your  good  name  kicked 
along  the  kennel?  And  rather  than  be  al- 
ways making  motions  which  are  lost,  and  pro- 
tests which  are  laughed  at,  would  it  not  be 
better  to  retire  into  private  life,  and  spend 
your  influence  on  those  who  may  both  take 
your  advice  and  spare  your  feelings?  True, 
if  it  were  the  love  of  praise  or  the  love  of 
power  which  put  you  in  that  post,  now  that 


266  LECTUEE  XVI. 


popularity  is  waning  and  influence  lost,  by  all 
means  relinquish  it.  But  if  it  were  a  higher 
motive,  let  the  motive  which  took  you  keep 
you  there.  If  it  was  the  love  of  your  coun- 
try, or  the  zeal  of  the  Gospel  which  drew  you 
into  office,  let  neither  reproaches  nor  rough 
usage  drive  you  out.  Though  the  spirit  of  the 
populace  rise  up  against  you, — though  the 
majority  for  the  time  overrule  you,  leave  not 
your  place.  Calmness  in  the  midst  of  con- 
tumely, equanimity  under  defeat  will  pacify 
great  offences  :  and  if  you  do  not  live  to  carry 
your  point,  when  a  subsequent  age  sees  your 
principles  triumph,  you  will  be  commemorated 
among  the  protomartyrs,  who,  when  the  cause 
was  forlorn,  labored,  and  never  fainted. 

Then,  after  a  parenthetical  reference  to  cer- 
tain infatuations  of  princes,  having  already  de- 
scribed the  patience  of  wisdom,  he  next  speci- 
fies its  promptitude.  "If  the  serpent  bite  be- 
fore enchantment,  what  advantage  has  the 
charmer?"  In  the  East,  there  have  always 
been  persons  who,  by  means  of  music  and 
legedermain,  exert  great  influence  over  some 


BLUNT  AXES.  267 


species  of  serpents  ;  so  that  whilst  under  their 
spell,  the  deadly  cobra  may  be  handled,  as  if 
he  were  utterly  harmless.  But  if  the  charmer 
tread  on  the  snake  unawares,  or  be  bitten  when 
off  his  guard,  he  will  be  poisoned  like  another 
man.  And  to  certain  minds,  God  has  given 
ascendency  over  other  minds,  like  the  influence 
of  the  serpent-charmer.  Sagacious  and  elo- 
quent, they  are  able  to  soothe  the  fury  of  fierce 
tempers,  and  mould  rancorous  natures  to  their 
will.  Like  David's  transforming  harp,  as  the 
strain  advances,  it  looks  as  if  a  new  possession 
had  entered  the  exorcised  frame,  and  a  seraph 
smiled  out  at  those  windows,  where  a  demon 
was  frowning  before.  But  alas  for  the  harper, 
if  Saul  should  snatch  the  javelin  before  David 
has  time  to  touch  the  strings.  Alas  for  the 
wise  charmers !  and,  alas  for  the  good  cause,  if 
the  tyrant's  passion  towers  up,  or  the  decree 
of  the  despot  goes  forth  before  a  friendly  coun- 
sellor has  time  to  interpose. 

"  The  words  of  a  wise  man's  mouth  are  gra- 
cious." It  is  a  pleasure  to  hear  him,  and  so  en- 
riching is  his  discourse,  that  to  listen  is  to  be 


268  LECTURE  XVI. 

wiser  and  better.  "  But  the  lips  of  a  fool  will 
swallow  up  himself."  He  is  the  sepulchre  of 
his  own  reputation;  for  as  long  as  he  was  silent, 
you  were  willing  to  give  him  credit  for  the 
usual  share  of  intelligence,  but  no  sooner  does 
he  blurt  out  some  astounding  blunder — no 
sooner  does  he  begin  to  prattle  forth  his  ego- 
tism and  vanity,  than  your  respect  is  ex- 
changed for  contempt  or  compassion.  Nay,  it 
is  not  only  himself  that  his  lips  swallow  up : 
for  all  unlike  the  "  gracious"  discourse  of  the 
wise  man,  the  gossip  of  the  fool  is  heartless 
or  malignant,  and  often  ends  in  "  mischievous 
madness."  From  recklessness  or  from  finding 
that  a  tale  of  slander  will  secure  an  audience 
even  for  a  fool,  he  is  constantly  retailing  calum- 
ny, and  damaging  other  people's  reputation. 
The  rest  of  his  talk  is  mere  word-rubbish. 
"  A  man  cannot  tell  what  he  shall  be  ;"  and, 
"what  shall  be  after  him,  who  can  tell?" 
— such,  trite  and  irksome  truisms  he  is  retailing 
all  the  day  to  the  sore  irking  of  some  victim 
ear.  He  is  consistent.  He  is  no  wiser  in  deed, 
than  in  word  :  but  even  the  road  to  the  mar- 


BLUNT  AXES.  269 


ket — so  patent  and  so  frequented,  he  continues 
to  miss ;  and  in  the  evening  he  and  his  ass  re- 
turn to  the  farm  with  their  unsold  produce,  be- 
cause he  had  forgotten  the  way  to  the  city,  and 
would  not  follow  his  wiser  companion. 

Speaking  as  unto  wise  men,  I  would  say 
that  it  is  very  important  that  Christians  should 
be  men  of  high  accomplishment.  Crowded  as 
is  the  world,  it  has  still  abundant  room  for 
first-rate  men ;  and,  whosoever  would  ensure 
a  welcome  for  society,  has  only  to  unite  to 
good  principle  eminent  skill  in  his  own  calling. 
But  the  day  for  stone  hatchets  and  blunt  axes 
is  past,  and  from  the  humblest  craft  to  the  most 
intellectual  profession,  in  order  to  succeed,  it  is 
requisite  to  be  clever  and  active  and  well-in- 
formed. Doubtless,  sickness  and  other  calam- 
ities may  interpose ;  but  assuredly,  no  one  has  a 
right  to  quarrel  with  the  world  if  it  refuses  to  pay 
for  misshapen  garments  and  unreadable  poems. 
And  therefore  I  would  say  to  my  young  hearers, 
make  diligence  in  business,  a  part  of  your  re- 
ligion. Add  to  virtue  knowledge.  Whatever 


270  LECTUKE   XVI. 


you  intend  to  do,  pray  and  study,  and  labor 
till  no  one  can  do  that  thing  better  than  your- 
self, and  then  when  you  enter  on  active  life, 
you  will  find  that  you  are  really  wanted. 
And,  much  as  you  have  heard  of  glutted  mar- 
kets and  a  redundant  population,  you  will  find 
that  there  is  yet  no  surplus  of  tradesmen,  or  ser- 
vants, or  scholars,  who  with  exalted  piety  com- 
bine professional  excellence.  Large  as  is  the  ac- 
cumulation of  people  who  through  misconduct 
have  broken  down,  or  who  through  indolent 
mediocrity  never  can  get  on,  you  will  find  no 
glut  of  talented  goodness,  or  of  intelligence  in 
union  with  principle.  You  will  find  that  there 
is  room  enough  for  all  who  are  really  able  to 
serve  their  generation. 

It  is  especially  important  that  those  who  are 
trying  to  benefit  others  should  possess  the  wis- 
dom which  is  profitable  to  direct.  Much  good 
has  been  defeated  by  the  want  of  skill  or  prac- 
tical wisdom  in  Christian  professors.  Many 
children  have  grown  up  with  gloomy  notions 
of  religion  from  the  mismanagement  of  pa- 


BLUNT  AXES.  271 


rents,  who  so  enforced  its  authority  as  to  ob- 
scure its  attractions.  Many  amiable  persons 
have  been  repelled  from  the  Gospel  by  the 
long  lectures  of  friends  who  were  faithful 
enough  to  reprove  them,  but  not  wise  enough 
to  win  them.  Many  a  prejudice  has  been 
created  by  the  imprudence  of  one,  which  the 
exertions  of  many  have  not  suffered  to  coun- 
tervail. And  many  a  noble  enterprise,  when 
almost  safe  in  port,  has  at  last  been  shipwrecked 
by  well-meaning  wilfulness,  or  through  that  in- 
firmity of  vision  which  mistakes  a  house-lamp 
for  a  lighthouse, — a  denominational  crotchet 
for  a  Christian  principle. 

Nor  is  the  cultivation  of  sound  sense  unim- 
portant with  a  view  to  personal  piety. 

"That  thou  mayest  injure  no  man,  dove-like  be, 
And  serpent-like  that  none  may  injure  thee."* 

In  a  world  like  this,  and  not  least  in  a  capi- 
tal like  this,  there  is  frequent  need  for  such 
Christian  sagacity;  and  wherever  he  lives  a 
conscientious  man  must  often  encounter  prob- 
lems in  conduct  which  tax  not  only  all  his 

*  Matt.  x.  16,  paraphrased  by  Oowper. 


272  LECTUKE  XVI. 


principle  but  all  his  prudence.  For  such  exi- 
gencies there  is  provided  a  great  and  precious 
promise  :  "If  any  of  you  lack  wisdom,  let  him 
ask  of  God,  that  giveth  to  all  liberally,  and  up- 
braideth  not ;  and  it  shall  be  given  him/'  But, 
like  all  the  gifts  of  God,  this  talent  grows  by 
trading;  and  he  who  prayerfully  exerts  his 
understanding  in  order  to  maintain  the  right- 
forward  path  of  duty,  will  soon  be  fit  to  guide 
and  counsel  others. 


LECTUKE   XVII. 

fSmi  DD  t|j5  Wiitns. 

"Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters:  for  thou  shalt  find  it 
after  many  days." — ECCLES.  xi.  1. 

WERE  you  going  at  the  right  season  to 
Mysore  or  China,  you  would  see  thousands  of 
people  planting  the  corn  of  these  countries. 
They  sow  it  in  the  mud  or  on  the  dry  soil,  and 
then  immediately  they  turn  on  a  flood  of  wa- 
ter, so  that  the  whole  field  becomes  a  shal- 
low pond.  You  would  think  the  seed  was 
drowned.  But  wait  a  few  weeks,  and  then 
go  and  view  one  of  these  artificial  lakes,  and 
from  all  its  surface  you  will  see  green  points 
rising,  and  day  by  day  that  grass  shoots  taller, 
till  at  last  the  water  is  no  more  seen,  and  till 
at  last  the  standing  pool  has  ripened  into  a 
field  of  rich  and  rustling  grain.  So  that  in  its 
IS 


274  LECTURE  XVII. 

literal  sense  the  farmers  of  these  lands  are 
every  year  fulfilling  the  maxim  of  the  text. 
For  snould  the  spring  come  on  them,  and  find 
their  supply  of  rice- corn  scanty,  instead  of  de- 
vouring it  all,  they  will  rather  stint  themselves. 
They  will  rather  go  hungry  for  weeks  together, 
and  li ve  on  a  pinched  supply :  for  the  bread 
which  they  cast  on  the  waters  this  spring 
creates  the  crop  on  which  they  are  to  subsist 
next  autumn  and  winter;  and  they  are  content 
to  cast  it  on  the  waters  now,  for  they  are  sure 
to  find  it  after  many  days. 

Or  suppose  that  you  are  in  the  South  Sea 
Isles,  where  the  bread  fruit  grows,*  and  that 
by  chance  or  on  purpose,  you  scatter  some  of 
its  precious  bunches  on  the  sea.  At  the  mo- 
ment you  may  feel  that  they  are  lost:  but 
should  the  winds  and  waters  waft  them  to  one 
of  those  reef  islands  with  which  such  seas  are 
thickly  studded,  the  wandering  seeds  may  get 
washed  ashore,  and  beneath  those  brilliant 
suns  may  quickly  grow  to  a  bread-fruit  forest. 
And  should  some  disasters  long  years  after 
*  The  cultivated  sort,  however,  has  no  seeds. 


BREAD  ON  THE  WATERS.  275 

wreck  you  on  that  reef,  when  these  trees  are 
grown  and  their  clusters  ripe,  you  may  owe 
your  sustenance  to  the  bread  which  you  cast 
on  the  waters  long  ago. 

Such  is  God's  husbandry.  Do  the  right 
deed.  Do  it  in  faith,  and  in  prayer  commend 
it  to  the  care  of  God.  And  though  the 
waves  of  circumstance  may  soon  waft  it  be- 
yond your  ken,  they  only  carry  it  to  the  place 
prepared  by  Him.  And  whether  on  an  earthly 
or  a  heavenly  shore,  the  result  will  be  found, 
and  the  reaper  will  rejoice  that  he  once  was  a 
sower. 

Dr.  D  wight  of  America  tells  how,  when  the 
country  near  Albany  was  newly  settled,  an 
Indian  came  to  the  inn  at  Litchfield,  and  asked 
for  a  night's  shelter, — at  the  same  time  confess- 
ing that  from  failure  in  hunting  he  had  noth- 
ing to  pay.  The  hostess  drove  him  away  with 
reproachful  epithets,  and  as  the  Indian  was 
retiring  sorrowfully, — there  being  no  other 
inn  for  many  a  weary  mile, — a  man  who  was 
sitting  by  directed  the  hostess  to  supply  his 
wants  and  promised  to  pay  her.  As  soon  as 


276  LECTUKE  XVII. 

his  supper  was  ended,  the  Indian  thanked  his 
benefactor,  and  said  he  would  some  day  repay 
him.  Years  after  the  settler  was  taken  a 
prisoner  by  a  hostile  tribe,  and  carried  off  to 
Canada.  However,  his  life  was  spared,  though 
he  himself  was  detained  in  slavery.  Till  one 
day  an  Indian  came  to  him,  and  giving  him  a 
musket,  bade  the  captive  follow  him.  The 
Indian  never  told  where  they  were  going,  nor 
what  was  his  object;  but  day  after  day  the 
captive  followed  his  mysterious  guide,  till  one 
afternoon  they  came  suddenly  on  a  beautiful 
expanse  of  cultivated  fields,  with  many  houses 
rising  amongst  them.  "Do  you  know  that 
place  ?"  asked  the  Indian.  "  Ah,  yes — it  is 
Litchfi eld ; "  and  whilst  the  astonished  exile 
had  not  recovered  his  surprise  and  amaze- 
ment, the  Indian  exclaimed,  "  And  I  am  the 
starving  Indian  on  whom  at  this  very  place 
you  took  pity.  And  now  that  I  have  paid  for 
my  supper,  I  pray  you  go  home." 

And  it  is  to  such  humanities  that  the  text 
has  primary  reference;  for  the  context  runs, 
"  Give  a  portion  to  seven  and  also  to  eight ; 


BREAD   ON  THE   WATERS.  277 

for  thou  knowest  not  what  evil 'shall  be  upon 
the  earth."  That  is,  miss  no  opportunity  of 
performing  kind  actions.  Though  you  should 
have  bestowed  your  bounty  on  seven, — on  a 
number  which  you  might  deem  sufficient, — • 
should  an  eighth  present  himself,  do  something 
for  him  also ;  for  you  know  not  what  evil  shall 
be  upon  the  earth.  You  know  not  in  this 
world  of  mutation  how  soon  you  may  be  the 
pensioner  instead  of  the  almoner.  You  know 
not  how  soon  you  may  be  glad  of  a  crust  from 
those  who  are  at  present  thankful  for  your 
crumbs.  Beneficence  is  the  best  insurance. 

When  Jonathan  was  young  he  was  the  heir- 
apparent  of  the  throne;  and  in  those  days 
his  favorite  friend  was  a  young  Bethlehemite 
whom  they  had  brought  to  the  palace  to  amuse 
the  monarch  with  his  minstrelsy.  The  young 
Bethlehemite  was  brave  and  high-hearted,  and 
Jonathan  loved  him  for  his  genius  and  his 
lofty  piety,  till  he  and  the  Prince  Royal  were 
fast  and  firm  as  any  brothers.  At  length  one 
morning  Jonathan  embraced  a  merry  boy 
some  five  years  old,  and  donning  corslet  and 


278  LECTURE   XVII. 

casque  lie  followed  his  own  sire  to  the  battle. 
Next  morning  their  corses  lay  stiff  on  the 
blasted  heights  of  Gilboa,  and  the  young  min- 
strel was  monarch  of  Israel.  Years  passed  on, 
and  the  new  sovereign  found  himself  in  Saul's 
old  palace ;  and  whichsoever  way  he  looked 
there  rose  upon  his  spirit  touching  memories. 
Here  was  the  very  throne  before  which  he  had 
often  kneeled,  harp  in  hand,  and  watched  the 
grim  tyrant's  features;  and  there  was  the 
wainscot  in  which  his  furious  javelin  had  hung 
and  quivered.  And  now  he  trode  again  the 
terraces  where  he  and  Jonathan  had  paced  to- 
gether, and  sworn  eternal  friendship  as  they 
dreamed  out  a  radiant  future.  He  visited 
again  the  field  in  which  they  had  set  up  their 
target  and  contended  in  friendly  rivalry.  He 
visited  again  the  bower  in  which  they  took 
sweet  counsel,  and  where  they  sang  "The 
Lord  is  my  Shepherd,"  and  "  Make  a  joyful 
noise,"  while  yet  these  psalms  were  new.  And 
everything  brought  back  that  pure  and  noble 
friend  so  tenderly,  that  the  whole  soul  of  the 
sovereign  yearned  for  some  living  relic  on 


BREAD   ON  THE   WATERS.  279 

whom  to  lavish,  his  regretful  fondness.  "And 
is  there  none  ?"  No,  none ;  except  this  feeble 
limping  youth,  the  little  boy  that  was,  and  who 
dates  his  lameness  from  his  father's  funeral. 
Yes,  but  fetch  him!  Fetch  Mephibosheth. 
He  is  all  of  Jonathan  which  now  survives  on 
earth  ;  and  for  his  dear  father's  sake,  he  shall 
have  again  all  his  patrimony,  and,  if  he  must 
not  be  the  King,  he  shall  never  eat  bread  at 
meaner  board  than  mine.  And  as  he  looked 
on  the  countenance  so  mnemonic  of  one  yet 
dearer;  and  as  he  rejoiced  to  see  the  poor 
youth  reinstated  in  that  home  of  which  he 
was  the  natural  heir ;  and  as  he  eyed  Mephi- 
bosheth filling  in  the  banquet-hall  the  place 
which  Jonathan  had  filled,  whilst  as  yet  him- 
self was  but  a  menial,  David  could  sing  with 
much  significance,  "I  have  been  young  and 
now  am  old ;  yet  have  I  not  seen  the  righteous 
forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  bread.  He  is 
even  merciful  and  lendeth,  and  his  seed  is 
blessed.' '  And  David's  own  son,  when  he  saw 
that  sight, — when  be  saw  Jonathan's  old  kind- 
ness requited  in  this  princely  provision  for  his 


280  LECTURE  XVII. 


child, — Solomon  might  say,  as  here  he  says, 
"  Cast  thy  bread  on  the  waters,  and  thou  shalt 
find  it  after  many  days." 

Although  so  often  exemplified  in  cases  of 
common  humanity  and  kind-heartedness,  the 
maxim  of  our  text  is  especially  applicable  to 
the  effects  of  Christian  philanthropy.  These 
are  pre-eminently  amaranthine.  There  are  seeds 
which,  after  being  borne  on  the  current  for  a 
few  days  or  weeks  lose  their  vitality ;  they  rot 
and  sink  and  disappear.  So  is  it  with  much 
of  human  effort.  So  is  it  with  many  a  worldly 
scheme,  many  a  plausible  suggestion,  many  a 
patriotic  enterprise.  It  finds  little  favor  in  its 
day;  it  cannot  get  deposited  in  a  sufficient 
number  of  appropriate  minds ;  and  so,  ere 
long,  it  becomes  old  and  obsolete ;  the  thought 
perishes,  the  seed  rots  and  disappears.  But 
not  so  with  pious  efforts.  It  is  more  than  the 
lucky  thought  of  fallible  and  short-sighted 
man ;  it  is  more  than  the  well-meaning  pur- 
pose of  a  feeble  and  sinful  worm.  It  is  a 
thought  suggested  by  God's  own  Spirit;  it 
is  a  purpose  sustained  and  animated  by  One 


BREAD   ON  THE   WATERS.  281 

whose  wisdom  is  infinite  and  who  is  alive  for 
evermore.  And  though  the  mind  in  which 
that  wish  or  effort  first  originated  may  long 
since  have  passed  from  these  scenes  of  mortal- 
ity,— though  forgetful  of  its  cunning,  the  hand 
which  first  launched  on  the  tide  of  human 
thought  that  project  or  that  principle,  may  long 
since  be  crumbling  in  the  clay,  a  heavenly  life 
is  at  its  core,  and  as  it  journeys  on  its  buoyant 
path  a  covenant  God  will  keep  alive  its  little 
ark  till  it  reach  the  predestined  creek,  and  after 
many  days  be  drawn  forth  from  the  waters, — 
the  Moses  of  the  mind. 

So  was  it  with  the  first  Eeformers.  Search- 
ing in  their  Bibles  they  found  truths  of  God 
which  had  vanished  from  the  memories  of  men, 
— great  truths  and  glorious,  no  longer  current 
in  the  vernacular  of  Christendom.  But  after 
their  own  understandings  and  hearts  had  been 
filled  and  expanded  by  them,  they  gave  them 
utterance.  That  it  is  through  the  justified 
Surety  that  a  sinner  is  just  with  God ;  that  be- 
twixt that  sinner  and  that  Surety  nothing 
mediates  nor  intervenes,  neither  Mary  in 


282  LECTURE  XVII. 

heaven  nor  mother  Church  on  earth,  neither 
the  sainted  mediator  of  the  Calendar  nor  the 
sacerdotal  mediator  of  the  Confessional,  but 
that  to  his  great  High  Priest,  the  God-man,  In> 
manuel,  the  sinner  may  come  boldly  and  may 
come  direct ;  that  in  order  to  receive  the  atone- 
ment and  rejoice  in  Christ  Jesus  no  prelimina- 
ries of  penance,  or  pilgrimages,  are  requisite, 
but  that  for  this  great  salvation,  sin  is  sufficient 
fitness,  and  the  Word  and  will  of  God  sufficient 
warrant ;  these  and  other  golden  truths,  fresh 
gleaned  from  the  BiFle,  they  published,  some 
preaching  them  from  pulpits,  some  proclaiming 
with  their  pens.  And  the  hosts  of  darkness 
took  alarm.  Wickliffe  went  to  the  dungeon ; 
Huss  and  Jerome  to  the  funeral  pile.  But 
though  the  witnesses  perished  the  Word  of  God 
could  not  be  bound :  the  truth  of  God  was 
neither  bound,  burned,  nor  buried :  but  over 
the  troubled  deep  of  a  dark  and  stormy  century 
this  bread  of  life,  these  seeds  of  saving  knowl- 
edge floated  on,  till  God  the  Spirit  landed 
them  and  planted  them  in  minds  prepared,  and 


BREAD   ON  THE   WATERS.  283 

from  these  rescued  waifs  there  sprung  the  glo- 
rious Eeformation. 

It  were  only  to  tell  the  same  tale  a  little 
varied  to  rehearse  how  once  upon  a  time  every 
enterprise  of  Christian  charity  was  once  a 
project  in  some  solitary  and  prayerful  mind ; 
and  how  when  cast  forth  on  the  waters  of 
thought  and  opinion,  it  first  halted  and  hov- 
ered and  looked  as  if  it  would  never  get  to  sea : 
and  how,  after  touching  at  one  point  after 
another,  and  finding  momentary  favor  only  to 
be  rebuffed  again,  some  great  gulf-current 
swept  it  clean  away,  and  its  author  hoped  to 
see  it  no  more.  And  away  it  went ;  and  it  was 
bandied  on  the  billows  and  it  was  battered  on 
the  rocks,  and  it  was  froze  in  the  iceberg,  and 
it  was  roasted  in  the  tropic,  till  at  last  the  Eye 
that  watched  it  and  the  Hand  that  steered  it 
from  above,  conducted  it  to  its  sunny  haven, 
and  safely  landed  on  an  honest  soil,  it  burst 
and  bourgeoned  and  waxed  a  mighty  tree. 

So  understood,  the  principle  admits  of  bound- 
less application  ;  and  should  be  very  cheering 
to  all  who  are  engaged  in  labors  of  Christian 


284  LECTURE  XVII. 


love.  For  instance,  if  you  are  engaged  in 
teaching  your  own  children,  or  the  children  of 
other  people,  and  your  great  anxiety  is  to  see 
some  good  thing  towards  the  Lord — some 
dawn  of  pious  feeling,  some  development  of 
personal  earnestness ;  but  notwithstanding  all 
the  endearment  which  you  throw  into  your 
words,  and  all  the  prayer  with  which  you  fol- 
low up  your  instructions,  you  dare  hardly  say 
that  you  perceive  any  hopeful  sign.  Never 
mind.  It  is  God's  own  truth,  and  if  all  your 
heart  be  in  it,  it  is  living  truth,  and  will  blos- 
som up  some  day.  It  may  be  in  that  soul's 
salvation  out  and  out.  It  may  be  in  restrain- 
ing it  much  from  sin,  or  in  urging  it  to  duties 
which  it  would  otherwise  have  never  thought 
of  doing, — and  it  may  be  after  many  days. 
It  may  be  after  your  own  day  altogether.  It 
may  be  on  the  shores  of  another  continent.  It 
may  be  on  the  shores  of  another  world.  But 
still,  God's  Word  shall  not  go  forth  a  living 
power,  and  come  back  a  vacant  nullity.  That 
word  shall  never  go  forth  without  returning, 
and  when  it  returns  it  shall  never  be  void. 


BREAD  ON  THE  WATERS.  285 

"  In  the  morning,  then,  sow  thy  seed,  and  in 
the  evening  withhold  not  thy  hand :  for  thou 
knowest  not  which  shall  prosper,  this  or  that, 
or  whether  both  shall  be  alike  good." 


LECTUEE    XVIII. 

Itinm  tjit)  SKmhs, 

READ  ECCLES.  n.  24-26;  m.  12,  13,  22;  v.  18-20; 
vm.  15  ;  ix.  7-10. 

w  I  know  that  there  is  no  good  in  them,  but  for  a  man  tc 
rejoice,  and  to  do  good  in  his  life.  And  also  that  every 
man  should  eat  and  drink,  and  enjoy  the  good  of  all  his 
labor:  it  is  the  gift  of  God." 

EVERY  moment  brings  its  mercy;  why 
should  not  mercies  bring  content  ?  To  the 
man  who  finds  favor  in  his  sight,  God  gives 
"  wisdom  and  knowledge."  He  is  conscious  of 
his  comforts,  and  he  has  sense  to  use  them. 
But  to  the  sinner  God  gives  "travail."  He 
has  the  toil  of  acquirement  without  the  power 
of  enjoyment.  "  There  is  nothing  better  for 
a  man  than  that  he  should  eat  and  drink,  and 
that  he  should  make  his  soul  enjoy  good  in  his 
labor." 


KNOW  THY  MERCIES.  287 

Throughout  the  whole  of  the  book  language 
like  this  is  constantly  recurring.  And,  with- 
out pausing  to  enter  a  caveat  against  Epicurian 
perversions  of  the  sentiment,  we  may  at  once 
proceed  to  its  legitimate  applications.  Of  all 
philosophies  the  most  eclectic  is  evangelical 
Christianity ;  and  many  a  sentiment  which,  iso- 
lated, would  be  an  error,  is  not  only  innocent 
but  useful,  when  acting  as  a  tributary  to  this 
master  principle. 

Even  in  the  days  of  his  vanity,  Solomon 
"  saw"  that  there  would  be  more  happiness  if 
there  were  less  hankering.  He  saw  it  in  man- 
kind; he  suspected  it  in  himself.  Like  the 
November  bee,  with  its  forehead  smeared  in 
the  honey  of  the  hive,  and  which,  smelling 
that  deceitful  lure,  fancies  that  it  is  the  nectar 
of  far-off  flowers,  and  which  still  scenting 
somewhere  ahead  a  land  of  honey,  flies  farther 
and  farther  a-field,  till  the  evening  mist  en- 
shrouds it  and  congeals  upon  its  wings,  and 
drags  it  benumbed  to  the  frozen  furrow;  so 
Solomon  had  often  seen  his  neighbors  flying 


288  LECTURE   XVIII. 

far  into  the  winter  in  search  of  that  honey 
which  they  had  left  at  home ;  and  he  said,  It 
would  have  been  better  that  they  had  "  eaten 
and  drunken,"  from  the  produce  of  their  pre- 
vious toil ; — it  would  have  been  better  if,  in- 
stead of  always  laboring  after  more,  they  could 
have  halted,  and  enjoyed  the  good  "  of  their 
former  labor." 

And  surely  this  principle  is  of  extensive  ap- 
plication. Without  disparaging  the  pleasures 
of  hope,  or  seeking  to  quell  the  zeal  of  pro- 
gress, are  the  cases  not  numberless  where,  for 
all  purposes  of  enjoyment,  labor  is  lost,  be- 
cause coupled  with  the  constant  lust  of  farther 
acquirement  ?  or  because  of  a  strange  oblivion 
of  his  own  felicity  on  the  part  of  the  favored 
possessor  ? 

Behold  us  here  in  Britain,  near  the  middle 
month  of  the  nineteenth  century,  surrounded 
with  the  broadest  zone  of  peace  and  material 
comfort  to  be  found  in  all  the  map  of  history. 
Looking  at  our  temporal  lot,  we  of  this  gene- 
ration and  this  country,  stand  on  the  very  pin- 
nacle of  outward  advantage ;  in  all  our  lives 


KNOW   THY   MERCIES.  289 

never  once  affrighted  by  the  rumor  of  inva- 
sion ;  exempt  from  all  the  horrors  of  impress- 
ment and  conscription ;  ignorant  of  martyrdoms 
religious  and  political ; — free,  self-governed, 
independent.  Who  knows  it  ?  Who  remem- 
bers it  ?  Who  in  these  matters  adverts  to  his 
own  happiness  ?  As  she  presses  to  her  bosom 
her  little  boy,  or  parts  on  his  open  brow  the 
darkening  hair  amidst  all  her  maternal  pride, 
where  is  the  mother  who  praises  God  for  her 
young  Briton's  privilege  ?  How  many  hearts 
remember  to  swell  with  the  joyful  recollection, 
Thank  God,  he  may  leave  me  if  he  pleases; 
but  he  can  never  be  dragged  from  me  against 
his  will !  He  may  become  a  More  among 
lawyers,  a  Latimer  among  preachers,  a  Sidney 
among  statesmen,  and  need  dread  neither  stake 
nor  scaffold.  He  may  become  the  victim  of 
false  accusation  and  malignant  persecution; 
but  he  will  not  languish,  without  trial,  slow 
years  in  a  dungeon,  nor  by  the  rack  befrenzied 
into  a  false  witness  against  himself.  He  may 
turn  out  unwise,  he  may  turn  out  unhappy ; 
but,  thank  God,  the  son  of  British  sire  can 
19 


290  LECTURE  XVIII. 

never  feel  the  tyrant's  torture  in  his  limbs,  nor 
the  brand  of  slavery  on  his  brow ! 

Behold  that  home  of  yours !  What  an  Eden 
a  thankful  heart  might  make  it !  What  a  con- 
centration of  joys  it  will  appear,  as  soon  as  the 
Spirit,  the  Comforter,  has  revealed  its  bright- 
ness ;  or  as  soon  as  its  little  groups  and  its 
daily  scenes  can  only  be  viewed  in  the  pic- 
tures of  gold  and  ebony  which  furnish  the 
mourner's  memory !  And  yet,  how  often  does 
your  own  peevishness  embitter  all  its  joy;  and 
how  often,  with  foolish  hankering,  do  you 
quit  its  hoarded  pleasures,  and  fly  away  to 
clubs  and  crowded  rooms,  to  theatres,  or  lonely 
travel,  in  search  of  the  honey  you  have  left  at 
home  1 

Behold  your  position  as  a  candidate  for  im- 
mortality !  What  could  you  desire  which  the 
God  of  grace  has  not  done  for  you  already  ? 
A  salvation  more  complete,  a  Bible  more  plain, 
a  revelation  more  abundant  ?  And  yet,  instead 
of  sitting  down  contentedly  and  thankfully  to 
this  "feast  of  fat  things,"  and  abandoning 
yourself  to  all  the  blessedness  which  is  so 


KNOW  THY   MERCIES.  291 

freely  given  you,  do  you  not  usually  find  a 
barrier  of  dilatoriness  or  distrust  rising  up  be- 
twixt you  and  the  costly  provision?  With 
that  Gospel  spreading  blandly  before  you, 
there  is  nothing  better  for  you  than  to  eat  and 
drink  of  its  mercies,  and  enjoy  the  good  which 
it  brings  you.  Oh,  study  to  realize  your 
amazing  position,  as  one  whom  Jehovah  all- 
sufficient  is  daily  inviting  into  his  friendship, 
and  whom  the  wearer  of  a  sinless  humanity  is 
willing  to  call  his  brother.  Fear  not  to  think 
it,  that  to  you,  poor  tenant  of  the  dust,  a  white 
robe  and  a  golden  harp  are  offered.  Fear  not 
to  think  it,  all  sin-laden  and  sin-pervaded  as 
you  are,  that  to  the  fellowship  of  angels  and 
his  own  society,  the  Holy  One  invites  you. 
Fear  not  to  think  it,  that  as  a  believer  in  Jesus, 
and  so  a  member  of  his  great  ransomed  body, 
your  very  self  is  soon  to  be  an  inhabitant  of 
that  world  where  there  is  neither  sin  nor  sor- 
row, and  a  burgess  of  that  city  whose  streets 
are  gold,  and  whose  gates  are  pearl.  Fear 
not  to  think  such  things;  but  fear  to  forget 
them.  Fear  not  to  believe  such  things ;  but 


292  LECTURE   XVIII. 

fear  to  credit  them  in  a  cold  and  vacant  man- 
ner. Fear  to  get  into  that  habit  which  engulfs 
any  amount  of  God's  mercies  as  the  ocean  en- 
gulfs the  argosie,  without  feeling  richer  or 
fuller,  or  giving  any  revenue  back. 

One  great  source  of  our  prevailing  joyless- 
ness  is  our  inadvertency.  Living  in  Borne,  a 
famous  antiquarian  and  artist*  tells  us  that  he 
gave  himself  half  an  hour  every  day  to  medi- 
tate on  his  Italian  happiness.  There  was  wis- 
dom in  the  rule.  Thousands  have  lived  in 
Borne,  with  the  same  pure  sky  smiling  over 
them  and  the  same  articulate  antiquity  on 
every  side  accosting  them,  and  never  been 
aware  of  their  felicity;  just  as  there  are  thou- 
sands who  growl  and  grumble  through  long 
years  of  English  life,  and  never  bless  God  for 
the  greater  mercy  of  being  born  in  Britain. 
Pew  of  us  need  to  be  better  off— we  all  need 
to  know  how  well  off  we  are.  We  need  to 
meditate  on  our  human  happiness.  We  might 
have  been  lost  angels,  of  whose  race  no  Be- 
deemer  took  hold.  We  might  have  been  cut 

*  Winkelman. 


X. 

KNOW   THY  MERCIES.  293 


off  in  our  sins  long  ago,  and  now  be  in  the 
place  where  God  forgetteth  to  be  gracious. 
We  might  have  been  born  in  dark  or  despotic 
lands,  where  faith  is  a  miracle,  and  where  piety 
is  a  martyrdom.  We  might  have  labored 
under  those  prejudices  of  education  which 
make  belief  in  the  faithful  saying,  as  hard  as 
it  is  for  a  camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a 
needle.  Then  absolutely :  there  is  for  our  med- 
itation, daily,  hourly,  life-long,  God's  chief 
mercy, — that  largess  of  unprecedented  love 
which  is  not  the  envied  distinction  of  some 
far-off  world,  but  is  God's  gift  unspeakable 
to  you,  to  me.  Oh,  let  us  for  once  dwell 
on  our  peerless  prerogative,  till  we  become  a 
wonder  to  ourselves, — till  but  for  our  faith  in 
God  we  would  not  be  able  to  believe  our  own 
distinguished  blessedness.  "This  is  the  record 
that  God  hath  given  to  us  eternal  life,  and  this 
life  is  in  his  Son."  "He  that  hath  the  Son 
hath  life."  "  He  that  spared  not  his  own  Son, 
but  delivered  him  up  for  us  all,  how  shall  he 
not  with  him  freely  give  us  all  things?" 
"  Who  ifi  he  that  condemneth  ?  It  is  Christ 


294  LECTURE  XVIII. 

that  died,  yea,  rather,  that  is  risen  again,  who 
is  even  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  who  also 
maketh  intercession  for  us."  "  Bless  the  Lord, 
O  my  soul,  and  all  that  is  within  me,  bless  his 
holy  name :  who  forgive th  all  thine  iniquities, 
— who  healeth  all  thy  diseases, — who  re- 
deemeth  thy  life  from  destruction,  —  who 
crowneth  thee  with  loving-kindness  and  ten- 
der mercies." 

Another  source  of  depression  is  distrustful- 
ness.  Am  I  wrong,  my  friends?  Are  not 
some  of  you  in  this  predicament  ?  You  have 
no  particular  evil  to  record  against  the  past, 
and  yet  you  have  great  fears  for  the  future. 
If  you  be  a  Christian,  on  the  whole  your  life 
has  been  a  happy  one, — and  yet  with  all  that 
past  happiness,  you  are  afraid  that  you  cannot 
be  so  happy  hereafter.  You  are  afraid  that 
grief  is  coming — all  the  more  afraid  that  grief 
is  coming  because  so  much  joy  is  past.  But 
this  is  wrong.  This  is  perverse  reasoning.  If 
a  child  of  God,  your  greatest  happiness  is  com- 
ing yet.  You  are  going  up  into  a  future 
where  mightier  than  the  mightiest  ti  ial — a  grief- 


KNOW  THY  MERCIES.  295 

transforming,  cloud-dispelling  Friend  awaits 
you.  If  God  be  your  chiefest  good,  and  con- 
formity to  God  be  your  great  desire,  the  future 
contains  no  real  evil  for  you.  In  that  future 
there  may  await  you  some  painful  incidents. 
The  loss  of  this  and  that  other  loved  one  may 
await  you  there, — the  loss  of  your  substance, 
— the  loss  of  your  health  may  await  you,  and 
they  may  not ;  sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof.  But  whatever  else  is  in  store  for 
you,  if  you  go  piously  and  prayerfully  forward 
into  that  future,  you  will  find  that  many  sweet 
mercies  are  there  awaiting  you, — many  bless- 
ings at  this  moment  unsurmised  and  unsus- 
pected,— blessings,  some  of  them,  which  the 
mourner  only  knows ;  and  you  will  find  that 
in  that  future  God  awaits  you,  as  present,  as 
powerful,  and  as  kind  as  He  has  been  in  the 
most  favored  past.  So,  summon  up  cour- 
age and  go  cheerfully  forward.  "Hope  in 
the  Lord ;  for  with  the  Lord  there  is  mercy." 
And  whatever  else  you  limit,  set  no  limits  to 
the  loving-kindness  of  the  Lord,  nor  to  the 
largeness  of  those  petitions  by  which  the  needy 


296  LECTUEE   XVIII. 

suppliant  honors  the  liberal  Giver.  Many  in- 
dulge a  complaining  spirit  who  scarcely  reflect 
how  wicked  it  is,  and  how  provoking  to  the 
Most  High.  They  take  up  the  Bible,  and  they 
read  the  murmurings  of  Israel  on  the  march  to 
Canaan,  and  they  pity  poor  Moses,  and  they 
do  not  wonder  that,  wearied  with  their  petu- 
lance and  peevishness,  the  Lord  smote  these 
rebels,  so  that  all  their  carcasses  fell  in  the  wil- 
derness. And  when  they  have  read  the  nar- 
rative, they  close  the  book ;  and  the  first  mem- 
ber of  the  family  that  comes  in  their  way,  they 
have  ready  a  long  lecture  of  rough  reprimand- 
ing and  perverse  fault-finding;  or  the  first  visi- 
tor that  arrives,  they  inflict  on  him  the  story 
of  their  grievances ;  they  tell  how  good  and 
meritorious  they  have  been,  but  how  severely 
the  Lord  has  frowned  upon  their  wishes,  and 
how  cruelly  the  Lord  has  baffled  all  their 
plans.  Yes,  brethren,  we  marvel  at  old  Israel, 
because  we  are  ignorant  of  ourselves.  If,  just 
as  Canaan  was  the  prize  of  meekness,  and  a 
single  murmur  was  enough  to  forfeit  it, — if  the 
Lord  suspended  any  blessing  on  the  same  con- 


KNOW  THY   MERCIES.  297 

dition, — if  those  only  were  to  find  next  year 
prosperous  who  never  grumbled  this  one,  and 
those  only  were  to  get  to  heaven  who  never 
murmured  by  the  way,  which  of  us, — who  of 
all  the  two  millions  of  London,  would  be  the 
modern  Joshua  and  Caleb  ?  And  yet,  as  it  is, 
who  would  not  try  ?  Who  is  there  that  would 
not  court  the  panegyric  which  God  pronounced 
on  the  sons  of  Nun  and  Jephunneh  ?  Who  is 
there  that  would  not  wish  the  perpetual  feast 
of  a  contented  spirit,  and  the  perpetual  orna- 
ment of  a  praising  one  ?  Let  us,  brethren, 
combat  our  natural  fault-finding,  and  our  no 
less  natural  foreboding.  Let  us  rejoice  in  the 
present,  and  let  us  trust  for  the  future.  Let 
us  pray  and  strive  till  our  frame  of  mind  is 
more  in  unison  with  the  Lord's  kindness ;  and 
in  the  fulfilment  of  any  wish  and  the  disap- 
pointment of  any  fear, — in  the  kindness  of 
any  friend,  and  in  the  answer  to  any  prayer, 
— in  every  gracious  providence,  and  in  every 
spiritual  mercy  bestowed  on  ourselves  or  others 
dear, — in  all  these  let  us  recognize  the  merci- 
ful kindness  of  the  Lord,  and  let  us  acknowl 


298  LECTUKE   XVIII. 


edge  what  we  recognize.  "  It  is  a  good  thing 
to  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord,  and  to  sing 
praises  unto  thy  name,  0  Most  High :  to  show 
forth  thy  loving-kindness  in  the  morning,  and 
thy  faithfulness  every  night ;  for  thou,  Lord, 
hast  made  me  glad  through  thy  work:  I  will 
triumph  in  the  works  of  thy  hands." 


LECTTJKE    XIX. 


READ  ECCLES.  xii.  1-7. 

"  Remember    thy   Creator,     .      .     .     while   the   evil   days 
come  not,  nor  the  years  draw  nigh,  when  thou  shalt  say, 

I  have  no  pleasure  in  them." 

) 

A  DISSIPATED  youth  is  sure  to  be  followed 
by  a  cross  and  joyless  old  age.  During  the 
years  of  his  ungodliness,  Solomon  had  been  a 
fast  liver,  and,  most  likely,  he  now  felt  creep- 
ing over  him  the  jejune  and  dreary  feelings 
which  foretell  a  premature  decline.  No  dew 
of  youth  survived  to  create  a  green  old  age, 
and  having  forestalled  the  reserve  of  strength 
and  spirits,  lie  had  failed  withal  to  lay  up 
against  this  time  a  good  foundation  of  faithful 
friends  and  pleasant  memories.  The  portrait 


300  LECTURE   XIX. 


is  general ;  but  an  old  worldling  seems  to  have 
supplied  the  original. 

Of  his  last  years  this  old  man  says,  "  I  have 
no  pleasure  in  them."  Once  on  a  time  exist- 
ence was  a  joy,  and  the  exuberant  spirits  over- 
flowed in  shouts  and  songs  and  hilarious  ditties. 
So  abundant  was  the  joy  of  life  that,  like  the 
sunbeams  in  a  tropic  clime,  it  was  needful  to 
shade  it,  and  with  a  Venetian  lattice  of  ima- 
gined sorrows  and  tragic  tales  the  young  man 
assuaged  the  over-fervid  beams  of  his  own  fe- 
licity. 

"  In  youth  he  loved  the  darksome  lawn, 
Brushed  by  the  owlet's  wing ; 
Then  twilight  was  preferred  to  dawn, 
And  autumn  to  the  spring. 

Sad  fancies  did  he  then  affect, 
In  luxury  of  disrespect 
To  his  own  prodigal  excess 
Of  too  familiar  happiness,"  * 

Now  there  is  no  need  of  such  artificial  abate- 
ments. It  is  not  easy  for  the  old  man  to  get 
a  nook  so  warm  that  it  will  thaw  the  winter  in 
his  veins.  To  say  nothing  of  a  song,  it  is  not 
*  Wordsworth. 


OLD  AGE.  301 


easy  for  him  to  muster  up  a  smile ;  and  as  he 
listens  with  languid  interest  to  the  news  of  the 
day,  and,  in  subtle  sympathy  with  his  own 
failing  faculties,  as  he  disparages  this  modern 
time  and  its  dwindled  men,  it  is  plain  that,  as 
for  the  world,  its  avocations  and  amusements, 
its  interests  and  its  inhabitants,  he  has*  little 
pleasure  in  them. 

It  adds  to  the  evil  of  such  days  that  the 
pleasures  of  expectation  are  constantly  lessen- 
ing. Old  age  is  a  Terra  del  Fuego, — a  region 
where  the  weather  never  clears.  Once  when  a 
trivial  ailment  came,  the  hardy  youth  could 
outbrave  it,  and  still  go  on  with  his  daily  duties. 
But  now,  every  ailment  is  important,  and  they 
are  never  like  to  end.  The  cough  is  cured 
only  to  be  succeeded  by  an  asthma,  and  when 
the  tender  eyes  have  ceased  to  trickle,  the  ears 
begin  to  tingle.  Once  upon  a  time  a  few 
drops  might  fall  into  the  brightest  day,  like  a 
settling  shower  in  June ;  and  there  were  apt 
to  be  hurricanes,  equinoctial  gales,  great  calam- 
ities, drenching  and  devastating  sorrows.  But 
now,  the  day  is  all  one  drizzle,  and  life  itself  the 


302  LECTURE   XIX. 

chief  calamity,  and  there  is  little  space  for  hope 
where  the  weather  is  all  either  clouds  or  rain. 

Then  in  the  third  and  three  following  verses, 
there  is  given  an  allegorical  sketch  of  the  in- 
firmities of  age.  "  The  keepers  of  the  house 
tremble."  Those  arms  once  so  brawny  wither. 
The  Priam  who  could  have  cleft  a  brazen  pan- 
oply, can  now  fling  a  spear  with  scarce  an  in- 
fant's force, — and  the  David  who  could  hurl  his 
pebble  straight  into  the  centre  of  Goliath's 
brow,  can  scarcely  carry  to  his  own  lips  a  cup  of 
water.  In  either  arm  the  sturdy  champion 
used  to  feel  that  he  had  two  stout  defenders, 
— two  trusty  keepers  of  the  castle ;  but  now 
that  he  is  old,  any  one  can  bind  them  and 
carry  him  whither  he  would  not.  "  And  the 
strong  men  bow  themselves."  Those  active 
limbs  can  do  no  more.  The  pedestrian  tells 
how  once  on  a  time  he  walked  his  hundred 
miles  in  four-and-twenty  hours,  and  then,  as 
he  gets  up  to  give  a  specimen,  he  stumbles  on 
the  carpet.  That  other  disciple  who  outran 
Peter  can  no  longer  creep  from  his  couch  to 
the  sanctuary,  but  is  fain  to  be  carried  in  his 


OLD  AGE.  303 


chair.  Be  thankful,  Asahel,  that  you  die  so 
soon,  or  none  would  believe  that  your  feet 
were  once  swifter  than  a  roe.  Be  thankful, 
Samson,  that  you  perish  in  your  prime,  or  it 
would  not  have  been  easy  to  believe  that  these 
bending  legs  of  yours  once  bore  the  gates  of 
Gaza.  "  The  strong  men  bow  themselves,  and 
the  grinders  cease  because  they  are  few."  The 
daily  meal  is  itself  a  drudgery ;  for  the  teeth 
have  fallen  out,  and  the  masticating  process 
is  a  fatigue  and  a  trouble.  And,  still  sorer 
privation,  the  eyes  are  dim.  "  Those  that 
look  out  of  the  windows  are  darkened."  The 
landscape  is  a  blot, — the  very  world  is  misty. 
The  writer's  inkhorn  is  allowed  to  dry,  and 
the  virtuous  woman  who  clothed  all  her  house- 
hold with  scarlet, — her  needles  now  rust  in 
the  unopened  case.  And  whatever  may  have 
been  the  pleasure  derived  from  works  of  infor- 
mation or  of  fancy,  that  pleasure  has  faded ; 
for,  except  in  the  brief  winter's  noon,  the  eye 
can  no  longer  decipher  the  wavering  lines,  and 
even  though  by  reading  aloud,  friendship  en- 
deavors to  supply  their  failures,  the  effort  is 


304  LECTUKE   XIX. 


defeated  by  the  dulness  of  the  ear.  "  The 
doors  are  shut  in  the  streets."  Soft  sounds  no 
longer  get  in ;  and  though  by  bawling  lustly, 
a  son  or  a  daughter  may  ask  or  answer  some 
occasional  question, — poor  substitute  these  vol- 
leyed and  intermitting  utterances, — poor  sub- 
stitute for  the  whispers  of  affection,  and  the 
sweet  accents  of  familiar  voices,  and  that  calm, 
effortless  participation  in  all  the  parsing  con- 
verse which  were  the  privilege  of  happier  days. 
But,  not  only  is  the  door  of  audience  closed,  the 
door  of  utterance  is  also  shut.  "The  grinders 
have  ceased,"  and  with  lips  collapsed  and  or- 
gans all  impaired,  it  is  an  effort  to  talk ;  and 
bending  silently  in  on  his  own  solitude,  the  vet- 
eran dozes  in  his  elbow-chair  the  long  summer 
hours  when  younger  folks  are  busy.  But  if 
he  dozes  in  the  day,  he  does  not  sleep  at 
night.  At  the  voice  of  the  bird,  at  the  crow- 
ing of  the  cock,  although  he  does  not  hear  it, 
he  can  keep  his  couch  no  longer.  He  rises 
whilst  industry  is  still  locked  in  needed  slum- 
ber, and  even  before  the  sleep-cloud  has  melted 
from  the  eyes  of  infancy.  He  rises,  but  not 


OLD  AGE.  305 


because  he  has  any  work  to  do,  or  any  pleasure 
to  enjoy.  "  He  is  afraid  of  that  which  is  high, 
and  fears  are  in  the  way."  He  has  neither  en- 
terprise nor  courage.  Once  it  was  a  treat  to 
press  up  the  mountain  side  and  enjoy  the  ma- 
jestic prospect.  Now,  there  is  no  high  place 
which  is  not  formidable ;  and  even  to  the  tem- 
ple it  is  a  sad  drawback  that  it  stands  on  Zion, 
and  that  it  is  needful  to  "go  up."  "The 
almond-tree  flourishes,  and  the  grasshopper  is 
burdensome.' '  Tease  him  not  with  your  idle 
affairs.  In  that  load  of  infirmities  he  has  en- 
cumbrance enough  to  carry,  and  though  it  be 
not  the  weight  of  a  feather,  do  not  augment 
his  burden,  who  totters  under  the  load  of 
many  years.  For  "  desire  has  failed."  You 
can  grapple  with  heavy  tasks, — you  can  sub- 
mit to  severe  toil  and  protracted  self-denial, 
for  you  have  a  purpose  to  serve — you  have  an 
end  in  view, — you  have  an  inducement  which 
countervails  toil  and  cheats  the  self-denial. 
But  with  him  there  is  no  inducement,  for  there 
is  no  ulterior.  "Desire  has  failed."  " Barzillai, 
come  and  live  with  me  at  the  palace,"  says 
20 


306  LECTURE  XIX. 


David.  And,  answers  Barzillai,  "  I  am  this 
day  fourscore  years  old ;  can  I  discern  between 
good  and  evil  ?  .Can  thy  servant  taste  what  I 
eat  or  what  I  drink  ?  Can  I  hear  any  more 
the  voice  of  singing  men  and  singing  women  ? 
Let  thy  servant,  I  pray  thee,  turn  back,  that  I 
may  die  in  my  own  city,  and  be  buried  in  the 
grave  of  my  father  and  of  my  mother."  Yes, 
that  is  all  of  "  desire"  that  now  remains, — the 
desire  to  die  at  home,  and  be  buried  in  the 
family  grave.  And  it  is  presently  fulfilled. 
For  now  the  old  man  goes  to  his  long  home, 
and  his  funeral  walks  the  streets.  The  other 
morning  his  children  came  and  found  nothing 
but  the  ruin.  The  silver  cord  by  which  it  was 
suspended  had  worn  out  at  last,  and  the  lamp 
of  life  was  fallen  to  the  ground, — the  lights  ex- 
tinguished and  the  golden  bowl  which  fed 
them  broken.*  The  pitcher  was  shattered 
beside  the  fountain,  and  the  cistern  wheel  de- 
molished. The  eye  was  glass.  The  heart  was 
still.  And  now  dust  goes  back  to  dust, — for  the 
soul  has  already  gone  to  the  God  who  gave  it, 
*  Noyes. 


OLD  AGE.  307 


This  description  gives  great  emphasis  to  the 
exhortation  of  the  outset.  Remember  thy 
Creator  in  youth — for  if  you  do  not  remem- 
ber Him  then,  your  next  leisure  will  be  old 
age,  and  now  you  see  what  sort  of  leisure  that 
is.  How  foolish  to  calculate  on  a  time  which 
not  one  youth  in  ten  ever  sees !  How  fatal  to 
calculate  on  a  time  which,  were  it  really  come, 
you  could  turn  to  no  account !  Suppose  that 
by  an  interposition  of  Omnipotence,  you  were 
lifted  over  the  interval  of  years.  Suppose 
that  you,  who  are  this  day  fifteen,  were  to 
awake  to-morrow  and  find  yourself  fourscore. 
You  know  what  it  is  to  be  very  sleepy,  and 
how  tiresome  it  is  to  have  people  talking  to 
you  when  you  can  scarcely  keep  open  your 
eyes.  You  know  what  it  is  to  be  very  sad, 
and  when  your  heart  is  breaking,  you  know 
how  painful  it  is  to  be  obliged  to  go  about 
your  daily  tasks,  and  how  little  progress  you 
make  in  this  disconsolate  diligence.  You 
know  what  it  is  to  be  very  sick ;  and  if,  when 
you  cannot  lift  your  head  from  the  pillow, 
your  little  sister  were  bringing  in  lilies  of  the 


308  LECTUKE   XIX. 


valley  or  new  wall-flowers  of  the  spring,  you 
would  look  languidly  at  it,  and  soon  put  it 
away ;  or  if  they  asked  you  to  rise  and  take  a 
ride,  you  would  feel  that  they  were  mocking 
you.  So  is  it  with  old  age.  It  is  drowsy,  and 
sad,  and  full  of  infirmity ;  and  to  go  to  an  old 
man  who  has  never  minded  religion  in  his 
youth — to  go  to  him  and  ask  him  to  mind  it 
now,  would  be  like  singing  songs  to  a  heavy 
heart;  it  would  be  like  telling  stories  to  a 
sleepy  man ;  it  would  be  like  showing  pictures 
or  presenting  nosegays  to  a  tortured  invalid. 
And  were  you  now  waking  up  to  a  sudden  old 
age,  you  would  find  all  over  you  a  strange  stu- 
por: the  windows  darkened,  and  the  street- 
doors  closed.  And  you  would  find  yourself 
very  dull.  These  are  days  when  you  would 
say,  "  I  have  no  pleasure  in  them."  And  like 
a  man  constantly  in  a  dim  disease,  you  would 
feel  as  if  you  never  were  hale  enough  to  throw 
all  your  heart  into  the  subject.  And  when 
pious  friends  pressed  you  and  entreated  you 
to  think  of  your  soul,  you  would  pray  them, 
"I  cannot  attend.  Everything  fatigues  me 


OLD  AGE.  309 


now.  The  grasshopper  is  a  burden.  I  know 
that  the  subject  is  awfully  important.  So 
much  the  worse  for  me — for  I  cannot  take  in- 
terest in  anything.  Desire  has  failed.  My 
heart  is  weary — my  soul  is  dim.  Oh,  leave 
me,  leave  me  to  repose !"  0  my  dear  young 
friends,  give  the  Saviour  your  heart  whilst 
you  have  a  heart  to  give.  Listen  to  his  voice 
whilst  your  feelings  still  are  fresh,  and  give 
Him  your  affections  before  your  natures  grow 
dry  and  arid. 

For  this  is  our  next  lesson :  The  Creator 
remembers  in  their  old  age,  those  who  in  youth 
remember  Him.  This  is  a  woful  picture,  but 
some  of  the  features  would  scarcely  be  recog- 
nized in  an  old  disciple.  At  least  it  cannot  be 
truly  said  by  an  aged  Christian,  "  I  have  no 
pleasure ;"  and  though  there  may  be  "  clouds, " 
he  has  also  long  and  sunny  intervals,  and  be- 
yond this  cloudy  region  he  has  blessed  pros- 
pects. The  peace  which  the  Saviour  gives  to 
his  people,  is  a  well  of  water  springing  up  unto 
everlasting  life;  and  there  is  nothing  which 
keeps  the  feelings  so  fresh  and  youthful  as  a 


310  LECTURE  XIX. 


perennial  piety.  "  Even  the  youth  shall  faint 
and  be  weary,  and  the  young  men  shall  ut- 
terly fall."  The  young  men  of  this  world 
must  grow  old;  and  a  few  years  hence  the 
young  man  rejoicing  in  his  youth  shall  be 
leaning  on  his  staff  for  very  feebleness.  "  But 
they  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  renew  their 
strength."  And  if  you  want  to  know  the  dif- 
ference between  animal  and  spiritual  youth, 
just  compare  that  young  spendthrift  who 
bows  his  head  like  a  bulrush,  because  he  is 
conscious  of  debt  and  dishonesty  and  the  dis- 
respect of  all  around ;  compare  him  with  that 
old,  but  frugal  and  contented  saint,  who  carries 
his  head  erect  as  the  palm-tree,  and  who,  like 
the  palm-tree,  has  constant  sunshine  on  it. 
Compare  that  young  profligate  who,  after  a 
night  of  riot,  is  now  dragging  his  reluctant 
steps  to  his  hated  post,  and  with  bleared  eyes 
and  throbbing  temples,  is  yawning  forth  his 
vacancy,  or  ejaculating  his  chagrin ; — compare 
him  with  yon  serene  and  cheerful  Christian 
who,  now  that  life's  working-day  is  over,  is 
resting  from  his  labors  for  a  little  before  he 


OLD  AGE.  311 


passes  to  his  reward,  and  whose  evening  is  so 
bright  that  the  youngest  are  glad  to  come  forth 
and  bask  in  its  beams.  Compare  that  young 
skeptic  who  has  half  persuaded  himself  into 
the  disbelief  of  God  and  hereafter, — and  whose 
forced  unbelief  is  often  interrupted  by  intru- 
sions of  unwelcome  conviction, — compare  him 
with  Paul  the  aged  in  prison,  writing,  "I  know 
whom  I  have  believed.  I  am  now  ready  to  be 
offered,  and  the  time  of  my  departure  is  at 
hand ;  I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have  fin- 
ished my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith. 
Henceforth,  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown 
of  righteousness,  which  the  Lord,  the  right- 
eous Judge,  shall  give  me  at  that  day." 

It  is  not  very  long  ago  since  the  lives  of  two 
veterans  appeared  so  simultaneous  as  almost  to 
compel  the  contrast.  Their  declining  days 
were  somewhat  similar.  When  getting  old 
and  feeling  frail,  they  lost  some  of  their  dear- 
est friends,  and  each  lost  his  fortune.  In  these 
circumstances  Sir  Walter  writes,  "  I  used  to 
think  a  slight  illness  was  a  luxurious  thing. 
It  is  different  in  the  latter  stages — the 


312  LECTUEE   XIX. 


old  post-chaise  gets  more  shattered  at  every 
turn ;  windows  will  not  pull  up,  doors  refuse 
to  open,  or  being  open,  will  not  shut  again. 
There  is  some  new  subject  of  complaint  every 
moment — your  sicknesses  come  thicker  and 
thicker;  your  sympathizing  friends  fewer  and 
fewer.  The  recollection  of  youth,  health,  and 
uninterrupted  powers  of  activity,  neither  im- 
proved nor  enjoyed,  is  a  poor  strain  of  comfort. 
Death  has  closed  the  long  dark  avenue  upon 
loves  and  friendships ;  and  I  look  at  them  as 
through  the  grated  door  of  a  burial-place  filled 
with  monuments  of  those  who  were  once  dear 
to  me,  with  no  insincere  wish  that  it  may 
open  for  me  at  no  distant  period,  provided  such 
be  the  will  of  God.  I  shall  never  see  the 
threescore  and  ten,  and  shall  be  summed  up  at 
a  discount.  No  help  for  it,  and  no  matter 
either."*  Recovering  from  a  similar  slight 
illness,  Mr.  Wilberforce  remarked,  "I  can 
scarce  understand  why  my  life  is  spared  so 
long,  except  it  be  to  show  that  a  man  can  be 
as  happy  without  a  fortune  as  with  one."  And 

*  "  Scott's  Life,"  Second  Edition,  vol.  ix.  pp.  60, 61. 


OLD   AGE.  313 


then,  soon  after,  when  his  only  surviving 
daughter  died,  he  writes,  "  I  have  often  heard 
that  sailors  on  a  voyage  will  drink,  l  Friends 
astern,'  till  they  are  half-way  over,  then 
1  Friends  a-head.'  With  me  it  has  been  '  friends 
a-head'  this  long  time."* 

Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the 
death  of  his  saints ;  and  God's  kindness  to  his 
aged  servants  is  often  displayed  in  their  gentle 
dismissal.  In  view  of  advancing  years  it  has 
been  sweetly  and  cheerfully  sung  by  an  Eng- 
lish poetess : — f 

"  Life  !  we've  been  long  together, 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather. 

Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear, 
Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear ; 
Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 

Choose  thine  own  time ; 
Say  not  good  night,  but  in  some  happier  clime, 

Bid  me  good  morning." 

And  the  boon  has  oft  been  vouchsafed  to  the 
mature  and  Simeon-like  disciple.  Many  of 
you  remember  "Father"  Wilkinson,  who 
preached  the  Golden  Lecture  so  many  years 

*  "  Wilberforce's  Life,"  vol.  v.  pp.  326,  328. 
f  Mrs.  Barbauld. 


314  LECTURE   XIX. 


in  London.  One  evening  he  told  his  daughter 
that  he  had  long  dreaded  dying  in  his  sleep, 
and  that  he  had  nightly  prayed  that  it  might 
not  be  so :  u  But  this  night,"  he  added,  "  I  have 
withdrawn  that  petition,  and  will  leave  this 
and  all  my  matters  in  God's  hands."  It  was 
the  last  link  of  bondage  broken :  the  last  fibre 
of  self-will  uprooted ;  and  having  thus  com- 
pleted  his  meetness,  the  Lord  surprised  his 
servant  into  blessedness  that  self-same  night. 
Last  week  we  read  a  similar  instance  of  a 
veteran's  gentle  home-going.  In  the  days  of 
Gallican  persecution,  Pastor  Faber  sat  at  the 
table  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre  one  afternoon, 
when  some  other  Protestant  refugees  were  pres- 
ent. He  was  looking  sad,  and  when  they 
asked  the  reason  he  replied  with  tears,  "I  am 
now  a  hundred  years  old,  and  when  many 
young  men  are  sealing  their  testimony  with 
their  blood,  here  have  I,  the  craven,  saved 
myself  by  flight."  The  Queen  and  her  friends 
assured  him  that  in  consulting  his  own  safety 
he  had  only  fulfilled  his  Lord's  command ; 
and  by-and-by  he  brightened  up,  and  said, 


OLD  AGE.  315 


"  Then  nothing  remains  but  that  I  go  back  to 
God ;  for  I  perceive  that  He  calls  me.  But, 
first,  if  you  please,  I  shall  make  my  will." 
Then  turning  his  eyes  on  the  Queen  he  said, 
"  I  constitute  you  my  executrix  and  residuary 
legatee.  My  books  I  bequeath  to  M.  Gerard, 
the  Preacher.  My  clothes  and  whatever  else 
I  have  I  give  to  the  poor.  The  rest  I  commit 
to  God."  At  which  the  Queen  smiling,  asked, 
"  Yes,  but,  James,  what  will  revert  to  your  re- 
siduary legatee  ?"  "  The  charge  of  dispensing 
to  the  poor,"  he  answered.  "  And  I,"  ex- 
claimed her  Majesty,  "  accept  it,  and  I  vow 
that  it  is  to  me  a  more  grateful  heritage  than 
if  my  royal  brother  had  bequeathed  to  me  the 
kingdom  of  France."  Thereupon  the  old  man, 
saying  that  he  wanted  rest,  bade  the  guests 
a  cheerful  good-night  and  retired  into  an  ad- 
joining chamber.  They  thought  that  he  was 
sleeping,  and  so  he  was.  He  had  fallen  asleep 
in  a  palace,  and  he  awoke  in  heaven.* 

My  young  friends,  let  me  claim  your  kind- 
ness for  the  old.     They  are  well  entitled  to 

"  Witsii  Miscellanea  Sacra,    torn.  ii.  p.  184. 


316  LECTURE  XIX. 


your  sympathy.  Through  this  bright  world 
they  move  mistily,  and  though  they  rise  as 
soon  as  the  birds  begin  to  sing,  they  cannot 
hear  the  music.  Their  limbs  are  stiff,  their 
senses  dull,  and  that  body  which  was  once 
their  beautiful  abode  and  their  willing  servant, 
has  become  a  cage  and  a  heavy  clog.  And 
they  have  outlived  most  of  those  dear  com- 
panions with  whom  they  once  took  sweet 
counsel. 

"  One  world  deceas'd,  another  born, 

Like  Noah  they  behold, 
O'er  whose  white  hairs  and  furrow'd  brows 
Too  many  suns  have  roll'd."* 

Make  it  up  to  them  as  well  as  you  can.  Be 
eyes  to  the  blind,  and  feet  to  the  lame.  On 
their  way  to  the  sanctuary  be  their  supporting 
staff,  and  though  it  may  need  an  extra  effort 
to  convey  your  words  into  their  blunted  ear, 
make  that  effort ; — for  youth  is  never  so  beau- 
tiful as  when  it  acts  as  a  guardian  angel,  or  a 
ministering  spirit  to  old  age.  And  should  ex- 
treme infirmity  or  occasional  fretfulness  try 

*  Young. 


OLD  AGE.  317 


your  patience,  remember  that  to  all  intents 
you  were  once  the  same,  and  may  be  the  same 
again ; — in  second  childhood,  as  in  first,  the 
debtor  of  others7  patience  and  tenderness  and 
magnanimity. 

And,  my  aged  friends,  let  me  commend  you 
to  the  sympathy  of  the  Saviour.  The  merci- 
ful High  Priest  knows  your  frame.  The  dull 
ear  and  the  dim  eye  are  no  obstacles  to  inter- 
course with  Him ;  and  the  frequent  infirmities 
prayer  can  convert  into  pleas  for  his  compas- 
sion. "What  are  you  doing?"  said  a  minister, 
as  he  one  day  visited  a  feeble  old  man,  who 
dwelt  in  a  windy  hovel.  "What  are  you 
doing?"  as  he  saw  him  sitting  beneath  the 
dripping  rafters  in  his  smoky  chamber,  with 
his  Bible  open  on  his  knee.  "  Oh,  Sir  !  I  am 
sitting  under  his  shadow  with  great  delight, 
and  his  fruit  is  sweet  to  my  taste!"  That  is 
dainty  food  which  even  Barzillai  might  dis- 
cern. Feed  upon  its  promises ;  draw  water 
from  its  wells  of  salvation.  And  when  one 
sight  after  another  fades  away  from  your  dar- 
kening eyes,  look  more  and  more  to  Jesus ; — 


318  LECTURE  XIX. 


for  if  He  be  your  joy,  your  hope,  your  life,  the 
faster  you  are  clothed  with  the  snows  of  eld, 
the  sooner  will  you  renew  your  youth  in  the 
realms  of  immortality. 

"  In  age  and  feebleness  extreme, 
Who  shall  a  helpless  worm  redeem  ? 
Jesus  my  only  hope  Thou  art, 
Strength  of  my  failing  flesh  and  heart; 
O,  could  I  catch  a  smile  from  Thee, 
And  drop  into  eternity  1" 


LECTURE   XX. 

it  I0itht-guti. 


"  Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  :  Fear 
God,  and  keep  his  commandments :  for  this  is  the  whole 
of  man." — ECOLES.  xii.  13. 

GOD  is  Almighty.  Some  beings  concentrate 
in  themselves  a  large  amount  of  power.  Some 
of  our  fellow-mortals  have  possessed  so  much 
vital  energy, — minds  so  inventive  and  vigorous 
as  to  leave  their  impress  on  a  realm  or  on  a 
continent ;  and  when  you  ask,  Who  engineer- 
ed this  road  ?  who  devised  this  law  ?  who 
erected  this  monument?  you  are  amazed  to 
find  everywhere  the  trace  of  one  imperial  in- 
tellect. But  ascend  into  Heaven  or  plunge 
into  Hades, — take  the  wings  of  the  morning 
and  visit  the  farthest  isles  of  Immensity,  and 
there  is  one  Presence  which  will  still  rivet 


320  LECTURE  XX. 


you,  and  one  great  footstep  which,  still  you 
must  fail  to  measure.  "Who  made  this  worm 
which  grovels  in  the  clay?  who  made  yon 
seraph  who  hovers  round  the  Light  of  lights  ? 
Who  lit  the  glow-worm's  taper?  who  filled 
with  bright  millenniums  the  sphery  lamp  of 
yonder  sun?  Who  gives  this  dancing  atom 
its  afternoon  of  life  ?  who  is  it  that  has  kindled 
immortality  in  the  soul  of  man  ?  Who  is  it 
that  fills  that  hive  with  industry,  that  home 
with  peaceful  joy,  that  heaven  with  adoring 
ecstasy  ?  The  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  first  and 
the  last,  who  is  and  was  and  is  to  come,  the 
Almighty. 

God  is  all-wise.  When  as  yet  nothing  ex- 
isted except  the  great  I  Am,  to  his  infinite 
understanding  all  combinations  of  existence 
were  present.  They  stood  forth  so  many  beau- 
tiful and  Divine  ideas,  and  from  this  panopti- 
con of  all  the  possible  his  holy  wisdom  chose 
the  best,  and  willed  that  universe  which  is. 
And  now  that  alongside  of  all  the  past  his 
boundless  comprehension  includes  the  farthest 
future,  each  evolving  incident  owes  its  being 


THE   WICKET-GATE.  321 

to  that  Providence  which  is  particular  because 
it  is  universal ;  and  nothing  comes  into  exist- 
ence which  is  a  surprise  to  Omniscience,  01 
which  does  not  instantly  find  its  place  pre- 
pared in  the  glorious  whole  :  so  that  from  the 
falling  sparrow  to  the  dying  martyr,  and  from 
the  fortunes  of  some  poor  human  family  to  the 
events  of  an  incarnation,  all  history  is  an  an- 
them ascribing  "to  the  King  eternal,  immor- 
tal, invisible,  THE  ONLY  WISE  GOD,"  "honor 
and  glory  forever  and  ever." 

God  is  all-holy.  He  is  the  infinite  Excel- 
lence. That  river  of  pleasures  which  makes 
glad  the  celestial  city,  is  just  so  much  of  his 
goodness  as  God  is  pleased  to  reveal ;  but  the 
full  fountain  remains  in  Jehovah  himself, — an 
ocean  which  Gabriel's  line  cannot  fathom,  and 
athwart  which  the  archangel's  wing  cannot 
traverse, — an  abyss  of  brightness  of  which  im- 
mensity alone  is  the  margin,  and  of  which  each 
holy  intelligence  is  but  a  sparkling  drop.  Yet, 
little  as  our  searching  can  find  out  God,  we 
know  that  his  name  is  just  the  highest  name 
for  goodness  and  blessedness.  We  know  that 
21 


822  LECTURE  XX. 


his  is  the  mind  to  which  evil  is  the  supreme 
impossibility.  "We  know  that  he  is  the  God 
of  truth,  and  without  iniquity :  just  and  right 
is  He.  Amidst  the  multitude  of  promises 
which  his  munificence  has  prompted  him  to 
make,  we  know  that  not  one  good  word  hath 
failed,  but  every  yea  has  found  its  Amen. 
Amidst  the  multitude  of  creatures  over  which 
his  sovereignty  extends,  we  know  that  there 
exists  no  instance  of  unkindness,  or  neglect,  or 
oppression.  And  amidst  the  multitude  of 
thoughts  and  emotions  which  make  up  the 
joys  of  Deity,  we  know  that  there  is  not  one 
malevolent  affection ;  but  all  is  condescension 
to  his  creatures,  care  for  their  well-being,  and 
delectation  in  their  joy. 

But  if  God  be  the  only  good  and  the  all-in- 
clusive joy,  a  creature's  blessedness  must  con- 
sist in  a  right  relation  and  a  right  emotion 
towards  Him.  To  be  separated  from  the  su- 
preme felicity,  must  itself  be  misery;  and  to 
entertain  unkind  or  hostile  feelings  towards 
infinite  excellence,  must  itself  be  the  deepest 
depravity. 


THE   WICKET-GATE.  323 


What  then  is  a  right  relation  to  God  ?  It  is 
that  coincidence  with  his  good  pleasure,  and 
that  compliance  with  his  revealed  will  which 
Solomon  calls  "  keeping  his  commandments." 
He  is  our  Creator,  or  whether  we  will  or  will 
not,  we  must  be  his  creatures.  But  he  is  also 
the  King  of  the  universe,  and  we  ought  to  be 
his  loyal  subjects.  And  in  Christ  Jesus  he  is 
prepared  to  become  our  Father,  and  we  should 
reciprocate  the  matchless  condescension,  and 
with  wonder  and  astonishment  exclaiming, 
"  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven,"  we  should 
become  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  Lord 
God  Almighty. 

And  what  is  the  right  feeling  towards  God  ? 
Almighty  and  all-wise,  we  should  devoutly 
adore  Him.  Our  righteous  Ruler,  we  should 
with  cheerful  submission  acquiesce  in  his  dis- 
posal, and  with  strenuous  activity  should 
fulfil  his  commands.  Our  kind  and  merciful 
Father,  we  should  give  him  unhesitating  love 
and  confidence  without  reserve.  And  alto- 
gether, did  we  realize  his  perfections  and  our 


324:  LECTURE   XX. 


own  position,  it  would  become  our  "  chief  end 
to  glorify  God  and  to  enjoy  Him  forever." 

Many,  however,  will  feel  that  the  great  dif- 
ficulty lies  in  getting  into  this  right  relation. 
Allowing  it  to  be  the  creature's  blessedness  to 
glorify  and  enjoy  the  Creator,  how  shall  a 
sinful  creature  begin  to  taste  this  blessedness  ? 
How  shall  I  assure  myself  that  the  Most  High 
is  no  longer  offended  with  me?  And  how 
shall  I  bring  myself  to  that  state  in  which  my 
Creator  shall  be  able  to  regard  me  with  habit- 
ual complacency  ?  Is  the  process  very  ardu- 
ous and  very  long?  Must  I  relinquish  my 
present  calling  and  give  myself  wholly  to  the 
business  of  working  out  my  peace  with  God  ? 
Had  I  not  better  retire  into  a  desert  or  a  hermi- 
tage ?  And  how  long  will  the  ordeal  last  ?  In 
how  many  months  or  years  may  I  begin  to 
hope  that  God  is  propitious,  and  that  heaven 
will  be  mine  ? 

Some  people  once  lived  in  a  Happy  Isle, 
but  for  their  misdeeds  they  had  been  banished. 
Their  place  of  exile  was  a  cheerless  coast ;  but 
it  lay  within  distant  sight  of  their  former  home. 


THE  WICKET-GATE.  325 

Soon  after  their  expulsion  a  message  had  come 
from  their  injured  Sovereign,  offering  to  all 
who  pleased  an  amnesty.  Few  minded  it. 
They  had  grown  sour  and  sullen,  and  they 
tried  to  persuade  themselves  that  the  earth- 
holes  in  which  they  burrowed,  were  more 
comfortable  than  the  mansions  of  his  land,  and 
that  the  mallows  among  their  bushes  were 
more  nutritious  than  all  the  fruits  of  his  gar- 
dens. One  man,  however,  was  of  a  different 
mind.  He  was  a  musing,  thoughtful  person. 
Often  might  you  have  seen  him  pacing  the 
beach  when  the  rays  of  evening  shone  on  the 
Happy  Isle,  and  whilst  the  sea-bird  wailed 
over  his  head  and  the  wrack  crackled  under 
his  feet,  from  his  own  dreary  prison  he  wist- 
fully eyed  the  forests  on  its  coast,  and  the 
mountains  of  purple  streaked  with  silver 
which  sate  enthroned  on  its  interior ;  and  as 
he  fancied  that  he  could  sometimes  hear  faint 
murmurs  of  its  joy,  he  wished  that  he  was 
there.  One  morning  when  he  awoke  it  struck 
him  that  the  opposite  shore  was  unusually 
nigh,  and  so  low  was  the  tide  that  he  fancied 


326  LECTURE  XX. 


he  might  easily  ford  it,  or  swim  across.  And 
so  he  hastened  forth.  First  over  the  dry 
shingle,  then  over  the  sad  and  solid  sand  from 
which,  with  scarce  a  ripple,  the  sea  had 
smoothly  folded  down,  he  hurried  on  till  he 
reached  the  damper  strand,  where  streams  of 
laggard  water  still  were  trickling,  and  then 
was  astonished  at  his  own  delusion ;  for  it  was 
still  a  mighty  gulf,  and  even  whilst  he  gazed 
the  tide  was  rising.  But  another  time  he  tried 
another  plan.  To  the  right  of  his  dwelling  the 
line  of  coast  stretched  away  in  a  succession  of 
cliffs  and  headlands,  till  the  view  was  bounded 
by  a  lofty  promontory  which  seemed  to  touct 
the  farther  side.  To  this  promontory  he  re- 
solved to  take  a  pilgrimage,  in  the  hope  that  it 
would  transport  him  to  the  long-sought  realm. 
The  road  was  often  a  steep  clamber,  and  for 
many  an  hour  the  headland  seemed  only  to  flee 
away.  But  after  surmounting  many  a  slope 
and  swell,  at  last  he  reached  it.  With  eager 
steps  he  ran  along  the  ridge,  half  hoping  that 
it  was  the  isthmus  which  would  bear  him  to 
the  blessed  isle.  Ah,  no !  He  has  reached  its 


THE  WICKET-GATE.  327 

extremest  verge,  and  here  is  that  inexorable 
ocean  still  weltering  at  its  base.  Baffled  in 
this  last  hope,  and  faint  with  his  ineffectual 
toil,  he  flung  himself  on  the  stones  and  wept. 
But,  by-and-by,  he  noticed  off  the  shore  a  little 
boat  with  whose  appearance  he  was  quite 
familiar.  It  used  to  ride  at  anchor  opposite 
his  own  abode,  and  had  done  so  for  ever  so 
long;  but,  like  his  neighbors,  he  had  got  so 
used  to  it  that  it  never  drew  his  notice.  Now, 
however,  seeing  it  there,  he  looked  at  it,  and 
as  he  looked  it  neared  him.  It  came  close  up 
to  the  rocks  where  he  was  seated.  It  was  a 
beautiful  boat  with  snowy  sails  and  golden 
prow,  and  a  red  cross  was  its  waving  pennon. 
There  was  one  on  board,  and  only  one.  His 
raiment  was  white  and  glistening,  and  his 
features  betokened  whence  he  came.  "  Son  of 
man,"  he  said,  "why  weepest  thou?"  "Be- 
cause I  cannot  reach  the  blessed  Isle. n  "  Canst 
thou  trust  thyself  with  me?"  the  stranger 
asked.  The  poor  wayfarer  looked  at  the  little 
skiff  leaping  lightly  on  the  waves,  and  won 
dered,  till  he  looked  again  at  the  pilot's  kind 


328  LECTURE  XX. 


and  assuring  countenance,  and  then  he  said, 
"  I  can."  And  no  sooner  had  he  stepped  on 
board  than,  swift  as  a  sunbeam,  it  bore  him  to 
the  land  of  light ;  and,  with  many  a  welcome 
from  the  pilot's  friends,  he  found  himself 
among  its  happy  citizens,  clothed  in  their 
bright  raiment,  and  free  to  all  their  privileges 
as  now  a  subject  of  their  King. 

The  happy  isle  is  peace  with  God, — that 
position  which  man  occupied  whilst  innocent. 
The  dreary  land  is  that  state  of  alienation  and 
misery  into  which  fallen  man  is  banished.  The 
little  skiff  denotes  the  only  means  by  which 
the  sinner  may  pass  from  nature's  alienation 
over  into  the  peace  of  God.  It  is  a  means  not 
of  the  sinners  devising,  but  of  God's  provid- 
ing. It  is  the  ATONEMENT,  and  He  who  so 
kindly  invites  sinner's  to  avail  themselves  of 
it  is  the  Lord  Jesus  Himself. 

I  may  suppose  the  case  of  a  hearer  who 
longs  for  acceptance  with  God.  At  present 
you  feel  like  an  exile  looking  at  a  distant  Eden 
with  a  gulf  between.  You  feel  that  between 
you  and  God's  favor  there  rolls  a  tide  of  tres- 


THE  WICKET-GATE.  329 

passes  and  sins  which  all  your  efforts  cannot 
get  over.  Sometimes,  like  the  poor  outcast  on 
that  bright  morning,  you  have  flattered  your- 
self that  the  separating  interval  had  narrowed, 
and  if  all  went  favorably  you  did  not  despair 
of  finding  yourself  ere  long  in  the  climes  of 
ascertained  salvation.  But  even  then,  like  a 
broad  and  powerful  tide,  the  current  of  world- 
liness  set  in  again,  and  the  interval  betwixt 
God  and  your  own  soul  again  grew  vast  as 
ever ;  or,  the  dark  stream  of  guilt  began  once 
more  to  roar  and  deepen.  Therefore,  ceasing 
to  hope  that  your  soul's  salvation  would  come 
about  spontaneously,  you  set  to  work  on  pur- 
pose to  achieve  it.  Like  one  who  would 
bridge  across  the  mighty  channel ;  or  rather, 
like  one  who  sets  out  on  pilgrimage  to  yon  in- 
viting promontory, — you  go  about  to  establish 
a  righteousness  of  your  own.  You  resolve  to 
read  so  many  chapters  and  to  pray  so  many 
times  a-day.  You  determine  that  you  will 
henceforth  never  more  be  angry,  nor  deceitful, 
nor  neglectful  of  your  trust.  You  try  to  think 
holy  thoughts  and  make  your  own  mind  spir- 


330  LECTURE   XX. 


itual.  And  in  this  way  you  hope  to  go  on  by 
degrees  till  you  are  really  good, — so  good  that 
you  may  be  at  last  forgiven.  But  how  far  must 
the  traveller  march  round  the  coast  of  Europe 
before  he  arrives  in  Britain  ?  And  how  many 
things  must  the  sinner  do  in  a  state  of  nature 
before  he  finds  himself  in  a  state  of  grace  ? 
They  that  are  in  the  flesh  cannot  please  God, 
and  instead  of  being  good  in  order  to  be  for- 
given, you  had  need  to  be  forgiven  as  the  first 
movement  towards  becoming  good.  The  sepa- 
rating gulf  is  too  deep  for  the  tallest  specimen 
of  human  virtue  to  ford,  and  too  wide  for  the 
sincerest  repentance  or  the  most  faultless  mo- 
rality to  bridge  over ;  and  were  you  confront- 
ing the  realities  of  the  case  you  would  find  that 
Christless  painstaking  is  only  a  pilgrimage 
along  a  sea-girt  promontory.  Peace  with  God 
is  not  a  boon  which  it  requires  good  deeds  to 
purchase  or  prayers  to  ensure  ;  but  peace  with 
God  is  a  gift  from  God,  already  come  from 
heaven  and  awaiting  your  acceptance.  And, 
just  as  the  vexed  wanderer  lifted  up  his  eyes, 
and  in  the  boat,  with  its  benignant  pilot,  rec- 


THE  WICKET-GATE.  331 

ognized  the  little  skiff  which  had  so  long 
hovered  unheeded  near  his  own  abode ;  so, 
were  the  Spirit  of  God  to  make  you  earnest 
now, — were  He  convincing  you  of  sin  or  of  the 
futility  of  your  own  exertions,  you  would  see 
your  salvation  in  some  thrice-told  tale, — some 
text  with  which  you  have  been  familiar  long 
ago.  "  Eternal  life  is  the  gift  of  God."  "  God 
hath  given  to  us  eternal  life,  and  this  life  is  in 
his  Son.77  "To  as  many  as  received  Him 
Jesus  gave  power  to  become  the  sons  of  God, 
even  to  them  that  believe  on  his  name."  "  The 
Son  of  man  must  be  lifted  up,  that  whosoever 
believeth  in  Him  may  not  perish,  but  have 
eternal  life."  "  Look  unto  me  and  be  ye  saved 
all  the  ends  of  the  earth."  Like  some  dim  ob- 
ject anchored  near  your  dwelling,  texts  like 
these  are  associated  with  your  earliest  memory. 
These  texts  are  gospels.  Any  one  of  them  is 
such  *a  faithful  saying,"  that  fully  realized 
and  implicitly  credited  it  would  carry  your 
soul  to  heaven.  Any  one  of  them  is  an  ark 
of  salvation  with  none  less  than  the  Friend  of 
sinners  in  it ;  and  you  have  only  to  be  per- 


332  LECTURE  XX. 

suaded  of  its  good- will  and  its  trustworthiness, 
so  as  to  transfer  your  immortal  interests  to  the 
Saviour's  keeping,  and  you  will  soon  discover 
that  TRUST  IN  CHRIST  is  PEACE  WITH  GOD. 

A  justifying  righteousness  is  not  a  privi- 
lege which  you  buy,  but  a  present  which  you 
receive.  It  is  not  a  result  which  you  accom- 
plish, nor  a  reward  which  you  earn,  but  it  is  a 
gratuity  which  you  accept.  It  is  the  ugift 
of  righteousness," — a  gift  promiscuous  to  sin- 
ners of  our  race, — a  gift  as  wide  as  the  human 
"whosoever;"  a  gift  outstanding  which  was 
within  the  reach  of  your  earliest  intelligence 
had  you  been  so  disposed,  and  which  is  not 
yet  withdrawn, — a  gift  which  it  needs  neither 
prayer  to  bring  nearer  nor  a  price  before  or 
after  to  make  surer,  but  which  it  only  needs 
your  open  hand,  your  open  heart  to  make 
your  personal  possession ; — not  a  bargain,  but 
a  boon ;  not  an  achievement,  but  an  acquies- 
cence ;  the  gift  of  righteousness ; — the  right- 
eousness of  God  which  seeks,  not  that  we 
deserve  it,  but  that  we  "  submit"  to  it.  Being 
justified  freely  by  his  grace  through  the  re- 


THE  WICKET-GATE.  333 

demption  that  is  in  Christ,  God's  righteous- 
ness is  declared  through  the  remission  of  sins 
that  are  past.  And  being  justified  by  faith 
we  have  peace  with  God,  through  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  Thanks  be  to  God  for  his  un- 
speakable gift ! 

Thus  is  it  that  the  right  relation  between 
God  and  the  sinner  is  established;  a  relation 
which  borrows  all  its  security  and  blessedness 
from  the  sinner's  substitute,  God's  own  Son. 
Our  redemption  is  in  Christ,  and  it  is  in  the 
Beloved  that  we  are  accepted.  Our  safety  is 
all  in  the  Saviour  whom  we  trust.  He  is  our 
peace.  Immanuel  is  the  door.  It  is  by  Him 
that  we  enter  into  the  fold  and  become  the 
sheep  of  his  Father. 

And  when  once  the  right  relation  is  brought 
about,  the  right  affection  must  follow.  It 
could  not  come  before.  It  did  not  come  whilst 
the  portion  of  goods  held  out,  and  amidst  his 
riotous  living  the  prodigal  was  jeering  at  the 
decorum  and  dulness  of  his  Father's  house. 
And  it  did  not  come  when  the  penniless  out- 
cast was  envying  the  swine,  and  yet  was  too 


334  LECTURE    XX. 


proud  to  go  home.  And  it  did  not  come  when 
crushed  and  crest-fallen  the  runaway  bent  his 
steps  towards  the  forsaken  threshold,  and  all 
his  thought  was  how  to  propitiate  an  angry 
father,  and  how,  if  he  could  only  get  a  hear- 
ing, he  might  get  leave  to  labor  for  his  food, 
and  so,  from  an  out-door  menial,  gradually 
work  his  way  back  to  the  hearth  and  the  fam- 
ily board.  But  when,  instead  of  an  angry  and 
upbraiding  stranger,  he  found  a  yearning  pa- 
rent ;  and,  instead  of  the  menial's  garb,  saw 
himself  invested  in  the  honored  guest's  best 
robe ;  and  instead  of  the  meanest  hireling's 
place,  was  installed  at  a  sumptuous  festival; 
when  he  saw  these  eyes  suffused  with  all  the 
love  of  delighted  fatherhood,  and  still  felt  on 
his  neck  where  that  father's  tears  had  fallen, — 
then  it  came — the  filial  affection  came;  the 
long  dormant  instinct  of  sonship  revived,  and 
the  love  of  a  fervent  gratitude  mingled, — so 
that  in  all  the  Holy  Land  the  fullest  heart 
that  night  was  the  restored  and  forgiven 
prodigal. 

And  even  so,  that  filial  emotion  which  here 


THE   WICKET-GATE.  335 

and  throughout  the  Old  Testament,  is  often 
called  "fear;"  that  blended  emotion  of  reve- 
rence, trust,  and  affection,  can  only  arise  where 
the  spirit  of  sonship  reciprocates  God's  re- 
vealed aspect  of  compassionate  and  forth- 
going  fatherliness.  It  matters  little  whether 
we  call  the  affection  fear,  or,  with  the  first  and 
great  commandment,  call  it  love.  In  that  fear 
which  realizes  God's  fatherliness,  there  cannot 
be  terror;  and  in  the  love  which  recollects 
that  its  father  is  GOD  there  cannot  be  petulant 
boldness. 

Fear  God,  therefore,  for  this  is  the  great 
duty  of  man.  To  love  Him  with  all  the  heart 
and  soul  and  strength  and  mind,  is  the  first 
and  great  commandment ;  and  till  once  Jeho- 
vah is  supreme,  an  orderly  and  respectable  life 
is  only  rebellion  without  violence,  and  even 
benevolence  without  godliness  is  only  a  beau- 
tiful impiety. 


LECTURE    XXI. 


'Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter:  Feaf 
God,  and  keep  his  commandments  :  for  this  is  the  whole 
of  man."  —  ECCLES.  xn.  13. 

"THIS  is  life  eternal,  to  know  Thee,  the 
only  true  God,  and  Jesus  Christ  whom  thou 
hast  sent."  To  get  this  knowledge  is  to  enter 
into  blessedness.  Reconciliation  to  God  is  like 
entering  the  gate  of  a  beautiful  avenue,  which 
conducts  to  a  splendid  mansion.  But  that 
avenue  is  long,  and  in  some  places  it  skirts 
the  edge  of  dangerous  cliffs  ;  and  therefore,  to 
save  the  traveller  from  falling  over  and  being 
dashed  to  pieces,  it  is  fenced  all  the  way  by  a 
quick-set  hedge.  That  hedge  is  the  command- 
ments. They  are  planted  there  that  we  may 
do  ourselves  no  harm.  But,  like  a  fence  of  the 
fragrant  brier,  they  regale  the  pilgrim  who 


GREEN  PASTURES.  337 

keeps  the  path,  and  they  only  hurt  him  when 
he  tries  to  break  through.  Temperance,  jus- 
tice, truthfulness ;  purity  of  speech  and  beha- 
vior ;  obedience  to  parents ;  mutual  affection  ; 
sanctification  of  the  Sabbath;  the  reverent 
worship  of  God ; — all  these  are  righteous  re- 
quirements, and  in  keeping  them  there  is  a 
great  reward.  Happy  he  who  only  knows  the 
precept  in  the  perfume  which  it  sheds,  and 
who,  never  having  kicked  against  the  pricks, 
has  never  proved  the  sharpness  of  its  thorns ! 

In  its  happy  influence,  religion,  or  a  filial 
compliance  with  the  will  of  God,  includes 
"the  whole  of  man."  It  is  self-contained  feli- 
city. 

A  new  heart  itself  is  happiness.  The  rain 
as  it  falls  from  the  firmament  is  never  poison- 
ous ;  but  by  the  time  it  filters  through  strata 
filled  with  lead  or  copper,  it  may  become  so 
pernicious  that  whosoever  drinks  of  the  water 
dies.  The  juice  of  the  grape,  as  it  flows  from 
the  fermenting  vat,  is  generous  wine ;  but  if 
the  wine-skin  which  receives  it  is  old  and 
musty,  or  if  it  be  poured  into  a  jar  of  acidu- 
22 


338  LECTURE  XXL 


lous  pottery,  it  soon  grows  sour  and  vapid. 
Gifts  as  they  come  from  God  are  always  good 
and  perfect ;  but  by  the  time  that  they  have 
distilled  through  our  murmuring  spirits,  they 
assume  a  different  character.  From  the  way 
he  speaks  of  them,  you  would  fancy  that  the 
worldling's  joy  had  all  been  drawn  from 
Marah ;  or  that,  however  carefully  he  had  cov- 
ered over  his  own  cistern,  the  star  Wormwood 
had  dropped  into  it,  and  changed  the  whole  to 
a  deadly  bitter.  The  truth  is,  his  mind  is  its 
own  Marah,  and  his  morose  and  murmuring 
nature  is  the  wormwood  which  renders  acrid 
to  the  taste  the  mercies  of  God.  But  Christi- 
anity is  a  new  creation.  The  Gospel  renovates 
the  soul;  and,  putting  a  right  spirit  in  the 
man,  it  makes  him  a  blessed  being  by  making 
him  a  RIGHT  RECIPIENT.  When  the  water  is 
as  clear  as  was  the  well  of  Bethlehem;  or 
when  the  wine  flows  as  rich  as  the  vintage  of 
Lebanon, — all  that  is  needful  is  a  pitcher  of 
crystal  or  a  goblet  of  silver,  which  by  infusing 
no  new  element,  will  preserve  its  freshness  and 
purity.  And  when  gifts  are  so  good  as  the 


GREEN  PASTURES.  389 

Gospel  and  the  promises; — so  good  as  our 
kindred  and  friends ; — so  good  as  the  flowers 
of  the  field  and  the  breath  of  the  new  sum- 
mer,— it  only  needs  an  honest  heart  which 
takes  them  as  they  come,  and  which  tastes  un- 
altered the  goodness  of  God  that  is  in  them. 
This  is  what  the  worldling  wants ;  this  new 
heart  is  what  the  God  and  Father  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  offers  to  you,  to  me. 

The  very  faculty  of  joy  is  the  gift  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  There  is  a  canker  in  the  heart 
of  man  which  hinders  happiness  even  when 
the  materials  are  most  abundant;  and  it  is 
mournful  to  observe  how  little  gladness  is  felt 
even  when  corn  and  wine  most  abound.  In 
the  midst  of  affluence  still  anxious,  the  munifi- 
cence of  the  Creator  cannot  give  contentment 
to  worldlings  and  worldly  professors ;  but  whilst 
the  green  pastures  re-echo  their  grumblings, 
they  may  see  their  peevish  faces  reflected  in 
those  quiet  waters  to  which  their  kind  Shep- 
herd has  led  them.  It  needs  more  than  good 
and  perfect  gifts  to  awaken  melody  and  praise : 
and  unless  the  Spirit  of  God  made  it  a  thank- 


340  LECTURE  XXI. 


ful  heart,  the  providence  of  God  cannot  make 
it  a  happy  existence.  But  when  the  Comforter 
is  come,  he  gives  a  new  heart,  and  creates  a 
right  spirit.  He  heals  the  canker  of  the  churl 
and  sweetens  the  bitterness  of  the  misanthrope ; 
and,  by  imparting  the  faculty  of  joy,  he  has 
often  exalted  life  into  a  jubilee  and  made  a 
very  humble  dwelling  ring  with  hallelujahs. 
Ever  since  it  was  broken  at  the  fall,  the  heart 
of  man  is  a  cracked  pitcher  from  which  happi- 
ness runs  out  with  amazing  rapidity  ;  and  the 
finer  the  fluid — the  more  subtle  the  element 
of  joy — the  faster  does  it  trickle  through ;  and 
often  it  is  not  till  the  last  drop  is  oozing, — it  is 
not  till  the  latest  film  is  regretfully  vanishing, 
that  the  soul  knows  it  ought  to  have  been 
happy,  and  is  sorry  for  not  knowing  it  sooner.* 
Far  otherwise  is  it  with  the  Christian's  pleas- 
ures. He  who  has  made  him  a  new  creature, 
has  given  him  a  new  capacity  of  receiving 

*        "  The  sweetness  that  pleasure  has  in  it 

Is  always  so  slow  to  come  forth, 
That  seldom,  alas,  till  the  minute 
It  dies,  do  we  know  half  its  worth." 

MoorJs  Melodies. 


GREEN  PASTURES.  341 

and  retaining  joy.  The  new  heart  does  not 
leak ;  at  least,  there  is  one  gladness  there 
which  will  abide  to  all  eternity,  and  which, 
even  when  it  has  for  a  season  disappeared, 
needs  nothing  but  the  jolts  of  sorrow  to  shake 
it  up  again  in  all  its  sparkling  zest  and  fragrant 
exhilaration.  The  soul  into  which  God  has 
put  the  gladness  can  never  be  empty  of  all 
joy;  for  the  "joy  of  salvation"  heals  the  bro- 
ken heart,  and  so  long  as  itself  remains  it 
makes  it  possible  for  other  joys  to  stay. 

A  devout  disposition  is  happiness.  It  is 
happiness,  whether  outward  things  go  well 
or  ill.  A  comfortable  home,  fond  kindred, 
health,  a  successful  calling,  are  sweet  mercies 
when  you  accept  them  direct  from  God, — thus 
rendering  dearer  to  yourself,  at  once  the  giver 
and  the  gifts.  But  these  mercies  may,  one  by 
one,  withdraw.  Lover  and  friend  may  be  put 
far  from  you,  and  your  acquaintance  may  van- 
ish into  secret ;  your  house  may  dilapidate  ; 
your  industrious  efforts  may  be  defeated ;  and 
your  prosperous  state  may  be  exchanged  for 
penury.  But  "  although  the  fig-tree  shall  not 


342  LECTUKE  XXI. 


blossom,  neither  shall  fruit  be  in  the  vines ;  the 
labor  of  the  olive  shall  fail,  and  the  fields  shall 
yield  no  meat ;  the  flock  shall  be  cut  off  from 
the  fold,  and  there  shall  be  no  herds  in  the 
stalls;  yet  you  will  rejoice  in  the  Lord,  and 
will  joy  in  the  God  of  your  salvation."  With 
shattered  constitution  you  may  find  yourself 
confined  to  your  couch  or  your  chamber,  and 
in  pain  and  depression  you  may  miss  that 
presence  which  would  have  been  a  "  sunshine 
in  this  shady  place."  But  lonely  and  languid 
you  can  say,  "Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but 
thee  ?  and  there  is  none  upon  earth  that  I  de- 
sire beside  thee.  My  flesh  and  my  heart 
faileth ;  but  God  is  the  strength  of  my  heart, 
and  my  portion  forever."  Public  affairs  may 
take  a  sombre  turn,  and  in  the  growth  of  pau- 
perism, or  in  the  wider  gulf  that  sunders  the 
classes,  there  may  be  prognostics  of  uproar 
and  anarchy ;  or  in  one  of  those  fits  of  infatu- 
ation which  occasionally  seize  society,  you 
may  stand  aghast  at  educated  men  flinging 
away  their  human  rights  and  their  reason,  and 
surrendering  to  a  grim  superstition  which  puts 


GREEN  PASTURES.  343 

out  their  eyes  and  binds  them  in  the  fetters  of 
Babylon  ;*  or  under  the  spurring  hoof  of  some 
colossal  despotism,  you  may  hear  human  hearts 
crushing,  as  the  sea-weed  crackles  under  the 
school-boy's  wanton  heel,  and  in  vain  sym- 
pathy you  may  burst  your  own ;  or,  as  in  vol- 
canic reaction,  pent-up  indignation  at  last 
explodes,  and  thrones  and  altars  are  hurled 
through  mid-heaven,  whilst  civilization  is 
overwhelmed  beneath  the  fiery  tide,  like  grass 
under  lava,  and  as  it  spirts  into  the  air,  the 
gory  geyser  tells  where  the  earth  has  opened 
her  mouth,  and  swallowed  alive  a  weltering 
multitude ; — in  moments  like  these,  when  the 
most  hopeful  philanthrophy  is  paralyzed,  and 
"men's  hearts  fail  them  for  fear,"  the  believer 
can  sing,  u  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a 
very  present  help  in  trouble.  Therefore  will 
not  we  fear,  though  the  earth  be  removed,  and 
the  mountains  be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the 
sea:n  and  beyond  all  the  crash  and  the  tur- 
moil, his  purer  ear  can  catch  the  cadence  of 
heavenly  harpers,  and  through  all  the  smoke 

*  2  Kings  xxv.  T. 


344  LECTUEE   XXI. 

of  burning  mountains  quenched  in  boiling 
seas,  his  penetrating  eye  can  glimpse  the  tok- 
ens of  a  bright  Epiphany :  and  from  the  reel- 
ing soil,  he  lifts  up  his  head,  knowing  that  re- 
demption draweth  nigh.  Oh  brethren!  in 
those  solemn  conjunctures  which  prefigure 
final  judgment ;  in  those  awful  conflicts  where 
man  appears  not  so  much  the  combatant  as  the 
arena ;  in  those  Armageddons  where  man  can- 
not look  to  man,  for  the  contending  powers 
are  Jehovah  and  Apollyon, — how  blessed  to 
have  a  friend  in  Omnipotence,  and  a  citadel 
within  the  tabernacle  of  the  Most  High ! 

A  benevolent  disposition  is  happiness.  The 
first  and  great  commandment  is,  "  Thou  shalt 
love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  soul ;  and 
the  second  is  like  unto  it,  Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself."  To  keep  these  two  com- 
mandments is  the  whole  of  man.  The  two 
feelings  are  very  different.  It  is  with  an 
adorning  complacency  that  you  love  the  ever- 
blessed,  desiring  that  his  glory  should  be  ad- 
vanced, and  that  his  will  should  be  the  mind 
of  the  universe.  It  is  with  an  affectionate 


GREEN  PASTURES.  345 

good- will  that  you  love  your  fellow-creatures, 
desiring  that  they  should  be  happy  in  loyalty 
to  God.  The  one  love  is  simply  outgoing ; 
the  other  ascends.  The  one  is  kindness  ;  the 
other  is  full  of  worship.  The  one  is  filial  de- 
votion ;  the  other  is  paternal  fondness. 

When  a  rose-bud  is  formed,  if  the  soil  is  soft 
and  the  sky  is  genial,  it  is  not  long  before  it 
bursts ;  for  the  life  within  is  so  abundant  that 
it  can  no  longer  contain  it  all, — but  in  blos- 
somed brightness  and  swimming  fragrance  it 
must  needs  let  forth  its  joy,  and  gladden  all 
the  air.  And  if,  when  thus  ripe,  it  refused  to 
expand,  it  would  quickly  rot  at  heart,  and  die. 
And  Christian  charity  is  just  piety  with  its 
petals  fully  spread,  developing  itself,  and  mak- 
ing it  a  happier  world.  The  religion  which 
fancies  that  it  loves  God,  when  it  never  evinces 
love  to  its  brother,  is  not  piety  but  a  poor  mil- 
dewed theology, — a  dogma  with  a  worm  iji  its 
heart. 

Benevolence  is  blessedness.  It  is  God's  life 
in  the  soul,  diffusing  in  kind  emotions,  and 
good  offices,  and  friendly  intercessions;  but, 


346  LECTUEE  XXI. 


unlike  other  expenditures,  the  more  it  is  dif- 
fused, the  more  that  life  increases  of  which  it 
is  the  sign,  and  to  abound  in  love  one  towards 
another,  is'to  abound  in  hope  towards  God. 

This  was  Solomon's  calamity.  In  his  aus- 
picious outset  he  lived  for  others.  To  make 
Jehovah's  temple  exceedingly  magnificent  and 
to  see  his  people  prosperous,  were  the  great 
desires  of  his  forthgoing  patriotism  and  piety. 
But  in  a  mysterious  moment  he  was  forsaken 
by  God's  Spirit.  To  his  introverted  egotism 
his  own  interest  became  more  urgent  than  all 
the  universe,  and  the  saint  and  the  patriot  be- 
came a  selfist.  The  lily  crept  back  into  its 
bulb.  It  said,  I  am  myself  the  summer.  Yon 
sun  shines,  because  I  am  to  be  seen.  This  air 
is  balm,  because  it  encircles  me.  I  will  go 
down  into  myself,  and  what  a  self-contained 
Eden  it  will  be  when  all  my  glory  is  reserved 
for  Solomon !  And  down  it  went ;  but  though 
its  disappearance  left  less  of  summer  in  the 
world,  nothing  but  winter  was  found  below. 
And  it  was  not  till  he  took  another  thought, 


GREEN  PASTURES.  347 

and  resolved  once  more  to  keep  these  two  com- 
mands that  aught  of  his  old  glory  came  again. 
Benevolence  is  blessedness  ;  and  if  the  pres- 
ent age  is  happier  than  some  that  have  gone 
before  it,  a  chief  reason  is  because  its  heart  is 
kinder.  Doubtless,  the  amount  of  material 
comfort  is  amazingly  increased;  but  this  is  not 
enough.  Man  is  not  a  dormouse;  and  how- 
ever warmly  he  lines  his  nest,  and  however 
snug  the  pose  of  orbicular  self-complacency 
into  which  he  rolls  himself,  he  cannot  become 
his  own  all-in-all.  Material  comforts  multiply ; 
but  these  alone  have  not  made  it  a  happier 
age.  It  is  happier  because  it  is  kinder.  We 
would  rather  convert  the  Turks  than  kill 
them.  We  would  rather  see  France  virtuous 
and  God-fearing,  than  see  it  subject  to  Britain. 
We  would  rather  teach  the  Jews  the  Gospel 
than  torture  from  them  their  money  hoards. 
This  is  the  age  which  wishes  well  to  the  slave, 
and  has  paid  a  great  price  for  his  freedom. 
This  is  the  age  whieh  wishes  well  to  the 
Heathen,  and  is  paying,  if  not  a  great  price, 
yet  a  greater  than  was  ever  paid  before,  for 


348  LECTURE   XXI. 


his  Christian  civilization.  This  is  the  age 
which  wishes  well  to  the  poor  and  the  outcast, 
and  which  is  taking  great  pains  to  enlighten 
his  mind  and  exalt  his  condition.  God  forbid 
that  we  should  boast.  Human  nature  is  the 
same  now  as  ever ;  but  if  the  Father  of  mercies 
has  somewhat  softened  the  spirit  of  this  age, 
let  us  not  forget  to  bless  his  holy  name.  We 
think  he  has.  We  think  on  the  whole  that 
the  world  is  happier,  because  of  late  the  Lord 
has  made  it  somewhat  kinder.  And  its  hap- 
piness will  advance  in  proportion  as  it  learns 
to  realize  that  object  of  the  advent, — "  on 
earth  peace;  good-will  towards  men." 

Malevolence  is  misery.  It  is  the  mind  of 
Satan.  He  is  the  great  enemy, — an  outcast 
from  all  joy,  and  an  opponent  of  all  good- 
ness and  all  blessedness.  His  mind  is  enmity 
against  God ;  enmity  against  angels  fallen  and 
unfallen ;  enmity  against  man  both  redeemed 
and  reprobate ;  and,  because  thus  hateful  and 
hating,  utterly  unhappy.  And  the  carnal 
mind  is  so  far  Satanic  because  it  is  enmity 
against  God ;  just  as  the  misanthrope  is  so  far 


GREEN  PASTURES.  349 

Satanic  because  he  is  enmity  against  his  fel- 
lows. On  the  other  hand,  benevolence  is  hap- 
piness. It  is  the  mind  of  God,  whose  tender 
mercies  are  over  all  his  works,  and  who  joys 
in  the  joy  of  his  creation.  And  hence  it 
comes  1  >  pass  that  some  who  have  never 
tasted  i  ae  full  blessedness  of  piety,  have  en- 
joyed many  sweet  satisfactions  in  the  exercise 
of  benevolence.  "  Oh  world,"  says  the  Em- 
peror Antoninus,  "  all  things  are  suitable  to 
me  which  are  suitable  to  thee.  Nothing  is  too 
early  or  too  late  for  me  which  is  seasonable  for 
thee.  All  is  fruit  to  me  which  thy  seasons 
bring  forth.  Shall  any  man  say,  O  beloved 
city  of  Cecrops !  and  wilt  not  thou  say,  0  be- 
loved city  of  God."  "And  you,  my  brothers," 
exclaimed  the  German  Eichter,  after  he  had 
spent  some  years  in  severely  satirizing  men 
and  manners :  seized  with  a  sudden  compunc- 
tion, or  rather  yielding  to  a  genial  visitation, 
"  And  you,  my  brothers,  I  will  love  you  more. 
I  will  create  for  you  more  joy.  I  will  no 
longer  turn  my  comic  powers  to  torment  you ; 
but  antasy  and  wit  shall  be  united  to  find  con- 


350  LECTURE   XXI. 


solation  and  cheerfulness  for  the  most  limited 
of  life's  relations."*  He  kept  his  word.  Mo- 
roseness  and  moodiness  fled  away,  and  from 
that  period  onward,  there  are  few  lives  not 
saintly,  on  which  care's  shadow  sits  more 
lightly.  But  if  there  be  such  a  solact  in  mere 
benevolence;  if  there  be  such  a  Divdne  de- 
lightsorneness  in  drying  tears  and  diffusing 
happiness;  if  some  have  passed  a  very  pleasant 
life  who  were  only  kind-hearted  without  being 
Christian  ; — how  incomparably  more  blessed 
are  those  who  unite  the  two, — whose  brotherly 
kindness  is  the  fruit  of  faith,  and  whose  charity 
is  a  devout  benevolence !  the  John  who,  bask- 
ing in  the  rays  of  uncreated  love,  returns  into 
the  midst  of  our  mortality  with  a  glow  which 
ever  since  has  raised  the  temperature  of  time ! 
the  Paul  who;  catching  the  spirit  of  his  Mas- 
ter, in  the  daily  medium  through  which 
heaven's  kindness  finds  its  way  to  the  heart 
of  our  humanity,  and  whose  very  soul,  like  a 
libation  on  a  sacrifice,  goes  up  a  sweet  savor 
to  God,  and  leaves  on  earth  a  grateful  memory ! 

*  Richter's  Autobiography,  vol.  ii.  196. 


GREEN  PASTURES.  351 

Brethren,  seek  loving  thoughts  of  God. 
Pray  for  them.  Cherish  them.  Strive  to  re- 
alize his  true  character.  Look  not  at  the 
distortions  drawn  by  the  lurid  fancy  of  super- 
stition ;  look  not  at  the  dark  pictures  sketched 
by  your  own  guilty  conscience.  But  look  at 
the  Bible  revelation.  Look  at  Immanuel.  Be- 
hold the  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory — 
behold  the  word  incarnate,  full  of  grace  and 
truth.  Surrender  to  the  manifestation.  Let 
your  aspect  towards  Jehovah  be  the  reciprocal 
of  his  aspect  towards  you.  Look  towards 
Jesus,  and  with  the  pleasant  countenance 
wherewith  he  views  his  beloved  Son,  he  will 
behold  you,  oh  looking  transgressor !  I  should 
rather  say,  oh  justified  believer !  And  by 
praise,  and  by  bright  obedience,  and  cheerful 
trust,  seek  to  augment  your  love  to  your 
heavenly  Father.  "When  happy  thoughts 
come  into  your  mind,  let  the  thought  of  God 
come  with  them ;  and  when  you  go  into  beau- 
tiful or  attractive  scenes,  let  the  reconciled 
Presence  go  with  you ;  till  at  last  earth  is  suf- 
fused with  heaven,  and  with  the  immortal 


352  LECTURE  XXI. 

morning  spread  upon  the  mountains  death  is 
done  away  and  the  oak  valley  superseded. 

And  seek,  as  a  fruit  of  the  Spirit,  love.  As 
a  Christian  principle  cultivate  a  broad  benev- 
olence, and  by-and-by  you  will" come  to  feel 
it  as  a  delightful  and  spontaneous  instinct. 
Having,  in  virtue  of  your  redeemed  relation, 
"a  covenant  with  the  beasts  of  the  field  and 
with  the  creeping  things  of  the  ground,"  you 
will  come  to  share  the  creature- ward  compla- 
cency of  that  kind  Creator  whose  tender  mer- 
cies are  over  all  his  works,  and  perhaps  may 
realize  the  description  with  which  you  have 
sometimes  been  charmed : — 

"  In  the  silence  of  his  face  I  read 
His  overflowing  spirit.     Birds  and  beasts, 
And  the  mute  fish  that  glances  in  the  stream, 
And  harmless  reptile  coiling  in  the  sun, 
And  gorgeous  insect  moving  in  the  air, 
The  fowl  domestic,  and  the  household  dog — 
In  his  capacious  mind  he  loved  them  all. 

Rich  in  love 

And  sweet  humanity,  he  was  himself, 
To  the  degree  that  he  desired,  beloved."* 

But  even  this  creature-ward  kindliness  will 

*  Wordsworth's  "  Excursion,"  book  2. 


GREEN   PASTURES.  353 

profit  you  little  unless  it  be  combined  with 
that  sublime  love  towards  your  immortal  fel- 
lows which  constitutes  Christian  charity.  Love 
man  as  man.  Fallen  and  sinful,  he  is  still  your 
brother.  Pity  the  sinner  even  whilst  you 
abhor  the  sin;  and,  in  order  to  deepen  and 
purify  your  compassion,  let  it  assume  a  practi- 
cal form.  Ask  yourself,  what  am  I  doing  to 
make  it  a  holier  and  so  a  happier  world? 
And  if  you  find  that  you  are  doing  nothing  in 
this  Divine  direction,  be  not  surprised  that 
there  is  still  a  crook  in  your  lot  and  a  discom- 
fort in  your  spirit.  Existence  will  only  run 
smooth  when  you  learn  to  be  a  fellow- worker 
with  God.  And  love  the  believing  brethren. 
Eejoice  in  their  increase.  Rejoice  in  their 
prosperity.  Glorify  the  grace  of  God  in  them, 
and  be  so  heartily  solicitous  for  their  progress 
and  improvement  as  really  to  help  them  for- 
ward. And  loving  without  dissimulation,  you 
will  soon  find  yourself  the  centre  of  much 
affection  in  return,  and  whatever  joy  you  dif- 
fuse you  will  find  it  aU  returning  with  increase 
into  your  own  bosom. 


BOOKS 

PUBLISHED   BY 

JUhrt  Carter  %  $rntjrer0, 

285  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


ABEEL'S  (Rev.  David)  Life.  By  his  Nephew.  8mo $  50 

ABEROROMBIE'S  Contest  and  The  Armour.  32mo,  gilt....  25 

ADAM'S  Three  Divine  Sisters— Faith,  Hope  and  Charity 60 

ADVICE  TO  A  YOUNG  CHRISTIAN.  18mo 30 

ALLEDNE'S  Gospel  Promises.  18mo 30 

Life  and  Letters.  12mo 60 

ALEXANDER'S  Counsels  to  the  Young.  32mo,  gilt 25 

ANCEBNT  HISTORY  of  the  Egyptians,  Syrians,  &c.,  4  vols. .  2  00 

ANDERSON'S  Annals  of  the  English  Bible.  8vo 1  75 

Family  Book.  12mo 75 

AUSTRALIA,  tho  Loss  of  the  Brig,  by  Fire.  18mo 25 

BAGSTER— The  Authenticity  and  Inspiration  of  the  Bible 60 

BAXTER'S  Saint's  Rest.  Large  type.  12mo 60 

Call  to  the  Unconverted.  18mo 30 

Choice  Works.  12mo 60 

BIBLE  EXPOSITOR.  Illustrated.  18mo 50 

BICKERSTETH'S  Treatise  on  Prayer.  18mo 40 

Treatise  on  the  Lord's  Supper.  18mo 30 

BLOSSOMS  OF  CHILDHOOD.  By  the  author  of  the  "  Broken 

Bud."  16mo 75 

BLUNT'S  Undesigned  Coincidences,  and  Paley's  Hone  Paulinae. 

In  one  volume,  8vo 2  00 

BOG ATZK Y' S  Golden  Treasury.  24mo,  gilt SQ 


BOOKS 

PUBLISHED   BY 

JUhert  Carttr  fc  $rntjrtr0, 

285  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


ABEEL'S  (Rev,  David)  Life.  By  his  Nephew.  8mo $  50 

ABEROROMBIE'S  Contest  and  The  Armour.  32mo,  gilt 25 

ADAM'S  Three  Divine  Sisters— Faith,  Hope  and  Charity 60 

ADVICE  TO  A  YOUNG-  CHRISTIAN.  18mo 30 

ALLEINE'S  Gospel  Promises.  18mo 30 

Life  and  Letters.  12mo 60 

ALEXANDER'S  Counsels  to  the  Young.  32mo,  gilt 25 

ANCIENT  HISTORY  of  the  Egyptians,  Syrians,  &c.,  4  vols. .  2  00 

ANDERSON'S  Annals  of  the  English  Bible.  8vo 1  75 

Family  Book.  12mo 75 

AUSTRALIA,  tho  Loss  of  the  Brig,  by  Fire.  18mo 25 

BAGSTER— The  Authenticity  and  Inspiration  of  the  Bible 60 

BAXTER'S  Saint's  Rest.  Large  type.  12mo 60 

Call  to  the  Unconverted.  18mo 30 

Choice  Works.  12mo 60 

BD3LE  EXPOSITOR.  Illustrated.  18mo 50 

BICKERSTETH'S  Treatise  on  Prayer.  18mo 40 

Treatise  on  the  Lord's  Supper.  18mo 30 

BLOSSOMS  OF  CHDLDHOOD.  By  the  author  of  the  «  Broken 

Bud."  16mo 75 

BLUNT'S  Undesigned  Coincidences,  and  Paley's  florae  Paulinas. 

In  one  volume,  8 vo 2  00 

BOG ATZK Y' S  Golden  Treasury.  24mo,  gilt 5Q 


CARTERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


BONAR'S  (Rev.  Horatius)  Night  of  Weeping 30 

Morning  of  Joy,  a  sequel  to  the  above 40 

Story  of  Grace 30 

Truth  and  Error.    18mo 40 

Man,  his  Religion  and  his  World 40 

BONAR'S  (Rev.  Andrew)  Commentary  on  Leviticus.    8vo —  150 

BONNET'S  Family  of  Bethany.    18mo 40 

Meditations  on  the  Lord's  Prayer.    18mo 40 

BOOTH'S  Reign  of  Grace.    12mo 75 

BORROWS  Bible  and  Gipsies  of  Spain.   8vo,  cloth 1  00 

BOSTON'S  Four-fold  State.    18mo 50 

Crook  in  the  Lot.    18mo 30 

BRETT  (Rev.  W.  H.)— The  Indian  Tribes  of  Guiana.    Illus- 
trated.   16mo 

BROKEN  BUD ;  or,  the  Reminiscences  of  a  Bereaved  Mother. 

With  steel  Frontispiece.    16mo 75 

BROWN'S  (Rev.  John,  D.D.)  Exposition  of  First  Peter.    8vo. .  2  50 

On  the  Sayings  and  Discourses  of  Christ.  3  vols.  8vo 

BROWN'S  Explication  of  the  Assembly's  Catechism.    12mo. . .  60 

BROWN  (Rev.  David)  on  tho  Second  Advent.    12mo 1  25 

BRIDGES  on  the  Christian  Ministry.    8vo 1  50 

On  the  Proverbs.    8vo 200 

On  the  CXIX.  Psalm.    New  edition.   8vo 1  00 

Memoir  of  Mary  Jane  Graham.    8vo 100 

Works.    3  vols.  8vo,  containing  the  above 5  00 

BROWN'S  Concordance.    New  and  neat  edition.   24mo* 20 

Do.                       Gilt  edge 30 

BUCHANAN'S  Comfort  in  Affliction.    18mo 40 

On  the  Holy  Spirit.    J  8mo.    Second  edition 50 

BUNBURY'S  Glory,  Glory,  Glory,  and  other  Narratives 25 

BUTLER'S  (Bishop)  Complete  Works.    8vo 1  50 

Sermons,  alone.    8vo 100 

Analogy,  alone.    8vo 75 

and  Wilson's  Analogy.    8vo 1  25 

BUNYAN'S  Pilgrim's  Progress,  fine  edition,  large  type.  12mo. .  1  00 

Do.                         Gilt 150 

Do.                         18mo,  close  type 50 

Jerusalem  Sinner  Saved.    18mo 50 

Greatness  of  the  Soul.    18mo 50 

BURN' S  (John)  Christian  Fragments.    18mo 40 

BURNS'  (Rev.  Jabez)  Parables  and  Miracles  of  Christ.    12mo. .  *5 
CALVIN— The  Life  and  Times  of  John  Calvin,  tho  Great  Re- 
former.   By  Paul  Henry,  D.D.    2  vols.  8vo,  Porrait 3  00 

CAMERON'S  (Mrs.)  Farmer's  Daughter.    Illustrated 3f 


CARTERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


CATECHISMS— The  Assembly's  Catechism.    Per  hundred ....  1  25 

with  Proofs 3  00 

Brown's  Short  Catechism.    Per  hundred 1  25 

Brown  on  the  Assembly's  Catechism.    18mo 10 

CECIL'S  WORKS.    3  vols.  12mo,  with  Portrait 3  00 

Sermons,  separate 1  00 

Miscellanies  and  Remains,  separate 100 

Original  Thoughts,  separate 1  00 

(Catharine;  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Hawks,  with  Portrait 1  00 

CHARNOCK'S  Choice  Works 60 

CHALMERS'  Sermons.    2  vols.  8vo.  With  a  fine  Portrait 3  00 

Lectures  on  Romans.    8 vo.     *         "                    "     1  50 

Miscellanies.     8vo.                            «                   «    150 

Select  Works ;  comprising  the  above.    4  vols.  8vo 6  00 

Evidences  of  Christian  Revelation.    2  vols 1  25 

Natural  Theology.    2  vols 125 

Moral  Philosophy 60 

Commercial  Discourses 60 

Astronomical  Discourses 60 

CHEEVER'S  Lectures  on  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  Illus.  12mo. .  1  00 

CHRISTIAN  RETIREMENT.     12mo 75 

EXPERIENCE.    By  the  same  author.    12mo 75 

CLARK'S  (Rev.  John  A.,)  Walk  about  Zion.    12mo 75 

Pastor's  Testimony 75 

Awake,  Thou  Sleeper 75 

Young  Disciple 88 

Gathered  Fragments 1  00 

CLARKE'S  Daily  Scripture  Promises.  32mo,  gilt 30 

COLQUHOUN'S  (Lady)  World's  Religion.  New  ed.,  16mo. ...  50 
COMMANDMENT  WITH  PROMISE.     By  the  Author  of 

44  The  Week,"  &c.  Illustrated  by  Rowland.  16mo 75 

COWPER— The  Works  of  William  Cowper;  comprising  his 
Life,  Letters  and  Poems,  now  first  collected  by  the  introduction 
of  Cowper's  Private  Correspondence.  Edited  by  the  Rev.  T.  S. 
Grimshaw.  With  numerous  illustrations  on  steel,  and  a  fine 

Portrait  by  Ritchie.    1  vol.  royal  8vo 3  00 

Do.                     do.       cloth,  extra  gilt 400 

Do.                     do.       morocco  extra 500 

Poetical  Works,  complete,  separate.   2  vols.  16mo.    Illus.  1  50 

CUMMIN  G-'S  (Rev.  John,  D.D.)  Message  from  God.  18mo 30 

Christ  Receiving  Sinners 30 

GUNNING-HAM'S  World  without  Souls.  18mo 30 

OUYLER'S  (Rev.  T.  L.)  Stray  Arrows 30 

DALE  (Rev.  Thomas)— The  Golden  Pialm.    16mo 60 


CARTERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


DAVTES'  Sermons.    3  volj.  12mo 200 

DAVIDSON'S  (Dr.)  Connexions.    New  edition.    8vo 1  50 

Do.                             do.           3vols.  12mo 150 

DAVID'S  PSALMS,  in  metre.    Large  type.  12mo,  embossed. .  75 

Do.                                         do.              gilt  edge 100 

Do.                                          do.        Turkey  morocco 2  00 

Do.    18mo,  good  type,  plain  sheep 38 

Do.    48mo,  very  neat  pocket  edition,  sheep 20 

Do.        "               "                  "               morocco 25 

Do.       c*              •'                 "              gilt  edge 31 

Do.        "               "                  **               tucks 50 

Do.    with  Brown's  Notes.  .18mo 50 

Do.                     "                     "       morocco  gilt 1  00 

D'ATTBiaNE'S  History  of  the  Reformation.    Carefully  Revised, 
with  various  additions  not  hitherto  published.   4  vols.  in  two. 

12mo,  cloth 1  50 

Do.                            do.       8vo,  complete  in  1  vol 1  00 

Life  of  Cromwell  the  Protector.  ]2mo 50 

.           Germany,  England  and  Scotland .  12mo 75 

Luther  and  Calvin.    18mo 25 

The  Authority  of  God  the  true  Barrier  against  Infidel  and 

Romish  Aggression 75 

DICK'S  (John,  D.D.)  Lectures  on  Theology,    tine  edition,  with 

Portrait.  2  vols.  in  one.   Cloth 250 

Do.                  do        sheep 300 

Do.                  do.        in  2  vols.    Cloth 3  00 

Lectures  on  Acts.  8vo 1  50 

DICKINSON'S  (Rer.  R.  W.)  Scenes  from  Sacred  History 1  00 

Responses  from  the  Sacred  Oracles 100 

DODDRIDGE'S  Rise  and  Progress.    18mo 40 

Life  of  Col.  Gardiner.    18mo 30 

DUNCAN'S  Sacred  Philosophy  of  the  Seasons.  4  vols 3  00 

Life.    By  his  Son.    With  Portrait.    12mo 75 

Tales  of  the  Scottish  Peasantry.  18mo.    Illustrated 50 

Cottage  Fireside.  18mo.    Illustrated 40 

(Mrs.)  Life  of  Mary  Lundie  Duncan.  16mo 75 

•••           Life  of  George  A.  Lundie.  18mo 50 

• Memoir  of  George  B .  Phillips.  18mo 25 

Children  of  the  Manse 1  00 

America  as  I  saw  it 

(Mary  Lundie)  Rhymes  for  my  Children.    Illustrated. . . .  25 

EDO- AR'S  Variations  of  Popery.    8vo 100 

EDWARD'S  (Jonathan,   D.D.)  Charity  and  its  Fruits.    Never 

before  published.  16mo 1  00 


CARTERS'     PUBLICATIONS. 


ERSKINE'S  Gospel  Sonnets.     18mo.    Portrait 50 

ENGLISH   PULPIT.    8vo 150 

EVIDENCES  OP  CHRISTIANITY.    A  Course  of  Lectures 

delivered  before,  the  University  of  Virginia.   Svo 2  50 

Araong  the  Lecturers  are  Drs.  Alexander,  Rice,  Breckenridge, 

Plumer,  Green,  McGill,  Sampson,  &c. 
FAR  OFF  ;  or,  Asia  and  Australia  Described.  By  the  Author  of 

the  tfc  feep  of  Day,"  &c.  Illustrated.  IGmo 75 

FAMILY  WORSHIP.  A  Series  of  Prayers  for  every  Morning 
and  Evening  throughout  the  year,  adapted  to  Domestic  Wor- 
ship. By  «ne  hundred  and  eighty  clergymen  of  Scotland.  8  vo. .  300 

Do.                      do.                      do.        half  morocco 4  00 

Do.                      do.                      do.        morocco 500 

FERG-USON'S  Roman  Republic.    8vo 1  50 

FISK'S  Memorial  of  the  Holy  Land.  With  steel  plates 1  00 

FLEURY'S  Life  of  David.    l-2mo 60 

FOSTER'S  £ssays  on  Decision  of  Character,  &c.    Largo  type..  75 

Do.                                      do.                  close  type,  18mo..  50 

: —  Essay  on  the  Evils  of  Popular  Ignorance.    12mo 75 

FORD'S  Decapolis.    18mo 25 

FOX — Memoir  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Watson  Fox,  Missionary  to  the 

Teloogoos.  Illustrated.  12mo 1  00 

FRANK  NETHERTON  ;  or,  The  Talisman.  Illustrated.  16mo.  60 

FRY  (Caroline)— The  Listener.    Illustrated  edition.   IGmo 100 

Christ  on  Law.    12rno 60 

Sabbath  Musings.    ]8mo 40 

The  Scripture  Reader's  Guide.  18rno 30 

—  Christ  our  Example,  and  Autobiography.    IGmo 

GEOLOGICAL  COSMOGONY.    By  a  Layman.     18mo 30 

GOD  IN  THE  STORM.    18mo 25 

GOODE'S  Better  Covenant.     J2mo 60 

GRAHAM'S  Test  of  Truth.     18mo 30 

GREEN— The  Life  of  the  Rev.  Ashbel  Green,  D.D.    8vo 2  00 

GRIFFITH'S  Live  while  you  Live.     18mo 30 

HALDANE'S  Exposition  of  Romans.    8vo 250 

HALL'S  (Bishop)  Select  Works.    IGmo  75 

HAMILTON'S  (Rev.  James,  D.D.)  Life  in  Earnest.    18mo 30 

Mount  of  Olives.    18mo 30 

-  Harp  on  the  Willows.    18mo 30 

Thankfulness.  18mo 30 

Life  of  Hall.    24mo,  gilt 30 

Happy  Home.    Illustrated.    18mo 50 

Life  of  Lady  Colquhoun.    16mo 75 

The  Royal  Preacher.  With  Portrait.  16mo 85 


CARTERS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


HAWKER'S  Poor  Man's  Morning  Portion.    12tno 60 

Do.                  do.        Evening  Portion.        "     60 

Zion's  Pilgrim.  ISmo 30 

HERVEY'S  Meditations.  18mo 40 

HETHERING-TON'S  History  of  the  Church  of  Scotland 1  50 

HENGSTENBEI?G  on  the  Apocalypse.    2  vols.  8vo 

HENRY'S  (Matt.)  Method  for  Prayer 40 

Communicant's  Companion.  18mo 40 

Daily  Communion  with  God.    "     30 

Pleasantness  of  a  Religious  Life.    24mo,  gilt 30 

Choice  Works.  12mo 60 

HENRY,  Philip,  Life  of.    18mo 50 

HE  WITS  ON— Memoir  of  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Hewitson,  Free  Church 

Minister  at  Dirleton,  Scotland,  with  Portrait.  12mo 85 

HILL'S  (George)  Lectures  on  Divinity.    8vo 2  00 

(Rowland)  Life.    By  Sidney.    12mo 75 

HISTORY   OF  THE   PURITANS  IN   ENGLAND,  AND 

THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  By  Stowell  and  Wilson.  12mo.  1  00 

HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  EUROPE 40 

HOUSMAN'S  Life  and  Remains.    ]2mo 75 

HORNE'S  Introduction.    2  vols.  royal  8vo,  half  cloth 3  50 

Do.               do.           1  vol.  sheep 400 

Do.              do.           2vols.cloth 400 

Do.              do.           2  vols.  library  style 500 

(Bishop,)  Commentary  on  the  Book  of  Psalms 1  50 

HO  WELL'S  LIFE— Perfect  Peace.    18mo 30 

HOWE'S  Redeemer's  Tears,  and  other  Essays.    18mo 50 

HOWARD,  (John,)  or  the  Prison  World  of  Europe.    12mo 1  00 

HOOKER,  (Rev.  H.,)  The  Uses  of  Adversity.   ]8mo 30 

Philosophy  of  Unbelief 75 

HUSS,  (Job  n ,)  Life  of.  Translated  from  the  German 25 

INFANT'S  PROGRESS.  By  the  Author  of  "  Little  Henry  and 

his  Bearer."  Illustrated.  IGmo 75 

JACOBUS  on  Matthew.  With  a  Harmony.  Illustrated 75 

— Questions  on  do.  18rno 15 

On  Mark,  Luko  and  John,  (preparing,) 

JAMES'  Anxious  Inquirer.  ISmo 30 

• True  Christian.   18rno 30 

Widow  Directed.  18mo 30 

Young  Man  from  Home 30 

Christian  Professor.    New  edition.  12mo 75 

Christian  Duty.     IGmo 75 

JAMD3  GORDON;  or,  The  Orphan.    Illustrated.    IGmo 75 

JANE  WAY'S  Heaven  upon  Earth.    JSmo 30 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


I 


290ct'51LU 


OCT 


REC'D  LD 

)EC30'63-1P 


PK  is 
DEAD 


CO 


LD  21-95?^ll,'50(2877sl6)476 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


u.c. 


•!-!il|li 


.'-!•>  -V  ;•  -;'  ••*-.  v  (  jf  J 

M 


